—“Kneel,” said she, “kneel upon the stone, on which Amalberga was kneeling when seized by the sacrilegious Landenberg; kneel, and swear in the presence of God and of this chapel’s Patron-Saint, never even in thought to swerve from the strictest rules of eternal truth and unsullied virtue: so shall this place be cleansed from the pollution, which it contracted from the impure steps of the virgin’s ravisher!—May Landenberg’s fate be thine, Erwin, shouldst thou ever for one instant prove faithless to Rosanna!—Never may’st thou, Rosanna, find in the time of need such a preserver as Amalberga found in Eginhart, shouldst thou ever forget the man, to whom I now solemnly betroth thee in the face of listening Heaven.—Let nothing part you, but the grave!—And should hereafter either of you from inconstancy or caprice rend asunder the sacred bonds, with which I now unite your fates for ever, that instant shall my form (be I living, or be I dead) stand before you threatening and awful, and warn you to return to the paths of propriety and duty!—But peace, everlasting peace be with the bosoms of faith, and may the wings of angels overspread them and preserve them!”—
Erwin and Rosanna, as they gazed on the lovely form, which stood before them illuminated by the pale light of the consecrated tapers, fancied themselves in the presence of some celestial being. They thought, that in her words they heard the voice of her Patron-Saint; they swore fidelity while life should last, and Mary kissed and blessed them.
She then accompanied them to the Chapel-porch; and the betrothed or rather the espoused lovers (for as such they now considered themselves) bent their course homewards beneath a sky heavy with the dews of an autumnal evening. Not one syllable did they exchange, as they past along; a gentle pressure of the hand occasionally was the only manner, in which they gave token of their feelings. Yet was their joy not quite unclouded; a secret heaviness weighed down their hearts: melancholy forebodings forbade their abandoning themselves entirely to the delightful thought—“We are united for ever!”—
The three actors in this solemn and singular scene had not enveloped their secret in so impenetrable a veil, as they imagined; and this transaction was the means of their meeting with many severe reproofs from those, to whom they were in subjection. The youthful devotee had been watched by an inquisitive Nun; and the respectable office, which she had thought proper to perform on this occasion, was made known to the Abbess the next morning. Severe were the censures past by that good lady on Mary’s boldness, in assuming a character so ill adapted to her time of life. On the other hand, each of the lovers was closeted by the chief of their respective families; and many representations were laid before them in these private conferences, which seemed to make great impression on the minds of both, though they had not the smallest effect in diminishing their mutual attachment. At their next meeting Erwin revealed not to Rosanna one word of the conversation, which he had held with his grandfather Melthal; neither on her side was Rosanna more communicative of the information, which she had gained from the old William Tell. They only confest to each other, that the main-topic of both these secret conferences had been reasons for their renouncing their so lately contracted union; and the question was exchanged—“Whether what each had heard, but which neither revealed, was of such force, as to authorize their breaking vows, which had been pronounced with such solemnity”—“No!”—uttered in a tone so positive, as to convey in it a renewal of all their former oaths, was the reply on both sides: yet they agreed to commit their cause to Heaven and Time, and to suffer, to hope, and to believe, what (in secret each was compelled to own) appeared then to be impossible.
That Erwin and Rosanna were mutually attached to each other, had been long suspected; but the fact was now made known throughout the Province, and the prejudice ran universally in favour of the lovers. The youths and damsels exclaimed loudly against the severity of the two fathers; and even the old people shook their heads, and let a few words escape them now and then about inexplicable obstinacy. They declared, that Melthal’s son and Tell’s daughter seemed to be formed for one another, that they ought to be united, and that united they would be some day or other, happen what might. Whenever they encountered the dejected lovers, they never failed to whisper some kind exhortations to be faithful, and to hope for better times; while on the other hand their young companions were anxious to furnish them with opportunities of meeting, and frequently in their village festivals the lovers suddenly found themselves encircled by the same chain of flowers, and heard every voice unite in singing the praise of their tender attachment and their wishes for its happy issue. A thousand ballads were made upon them, some plaintive, some gay, and they circulated from mouth to mouth with rapidity; for the love of Erwin and Rosanna was an affair, in which the whole Province felt itself interested.
This universal good-will, however, advanced their cause but little. When they were alone, each spoke of eternal fidelity and insurmountable difficulties; each made it evident, that a secret sorrow weighed heavy upon the heart; each found fault with the father of the other, and declared him to be extremely in the wrong; while the father of the speaker was asserted to be perfectly in the right, at the same time that to obey him was acknowledged to be impossible. As to the two old men, they took no steps towards an explanation. It was rather observed, that from this time forward they shunned each other’s society, and seemed by the mutual distance thus suddenly created between them, to give their children a hint of the conduct, which they expected them also to adopt.
Sooner than they were aware, chance relieved them from the troublesome employment of watching over the lovers. Erwin was unexpectedly summoned to join the Emperor’s army, and the orders were so pressing, as not even to permit his taking leave of his mistress. Yet as he past by it on his road, he said a short but fervent prayer in the Chapel of Engelberg; he commended himself and his fortunes to the protection of that Saint, who had heard his vows pronounced; and Mary being fortunately among the Nuns, and within reach of his eye, he implored her by signs to bear his melancholy greeting to her sister. Mary perfectly understood the meaning of those signs; though it was long, before an opportunity presented itself for complying with his wish. Ever since her culpable interference in unhallowed love-affairs, the virtuous Lady Abbess had caused a strict watch to be kept over Mary; and though Rosanna’s heart was full and greatly needed the consolations of a sister’s tenderness, she still hesitated to visit Engelberg. The secret, which the old Tell had revealed to her, was a dead weight upon her heart; she knew well, that it was her duty to make it immediately known to Mary, who was no less interested in it than herself; and she trembled to hear the decision, which (she doubted not) would be pronounced even by her truest friend and the partial favourer of her love, as soon as she should be made acquainted with the real nature of the case.
The useful art of penmanship, which a century before had been familiar in these parts, and practised by persons totally unconnected with learned pursuits, even by women, (as the annals of the Ladies of Sargans testify,) at the present period was fallen into neglect. With the exception of some few characters of distinguished merit, it was confined to the clergy, and alas! in this respect Erwin and Rosanna were completely laical: neither was it safe or prudent to confide their tender secrets to the discretion of chance messengers; and it necessarily followed, that the lovers were but seldom informed of the proceedings of each other. Common fame however occasionally brought the maid tidings of her warrior not less strange than satisfactory; and the girls of the Valley frequently were able to comfort their sorrowing companion with reports, which asserted Erwin’s heroism to be only equalled by his good fortune. Rosanna’s heart readily gave credit to assertions so flattering; and she was too well disposed to believe them, to require much proof of their veracity; nay, she sometimes was so completely fascinated by the illusions of Fancy, that she could not refrain from communicating her hopes to the venerable Tell.
—“Surely, my good father,” would she say to him, “should Erwin return to me crowned with honour and renown; should he be really what Fame asserts, the favourite of his Emperor, what is more probable, than that the lowness of his origin should be sunk in the splendour of some new-acquired title, and his merits be rewarded by his elevation to some station of importance? and in that case, where would be the impropriety of my giving him my hand? and what obstacle would my mother’s injunctions oppose any longer to our union?”—
The old man on hearing such observations never failed to exclaim against the credulity of young minds, and to warn the exulting girl against the painful effect, which evil tidings would produce upon her mind with as much facility and with still greater violence. They say, that Age often possesses the gift of second-sight; it is at least certain, that what Tell foreboded, happened but too soon. On a sudden, Rosanna’s Companions greeted her arrival no more with chearful songs of encouragement and hope; the name of the heroic Erwin now was never suffered to pass their lips; when she enquired, whether no tidings of him had reached the Valley, her question was evaded. At length the deep mourning, in which the Melthal family appeared, made public the dreadful intelligence, which her friends had so long concealed from her, and the relation of which struck her senseless to the earth, as if it had been a flash of lightning. Erwin had accompanied his sovereign to relieve the Fortress of Bender, which was besieged by Sultan Amurath, and in an unsuccessful attack upon the enemy’s camp had fallen as became a warrior. The whole Valley was afflicted at his loss; the old Melthal was inconsolable. Shortly afterwards he left his home to visit the Castle of a nobleman, who had been long his patron and his friend, and he returned no more. Death surprised him on his journey; and his children brought nothing back but his bones, which they buried in his native land, that land which through life he had ever loved so dearly!