The serenity of the Christian in the hour of peril, the agony of sickness, and the approach of death, contrasts greatly with the sullen abandonment of the stoic, and the reckless desperation of the infidel.
Here my meditations were broken by seeing the long black banner of the steamer wreathing over the placid river, and impinging against the sides of the hills. Descending from my airy seat, I soon joined my companions on the crowded deck, and proceeded on our voyage. It is fashionable for modern tourists to draw characteristic sketches of the passengers in steam-boats on the Rhine. I think it is one of the worst theatres that could be selected for that purpose. The scenery itself, and the legendary tales which fix the localities in the memory, are quite sufficient for ordinary attention, without attempting to dive into the peculiarities of individual character, which are not so easily fathomed as the sentimental tourist would have us to suppose.
We have scarcely got disentangled of the Drachenfels, when we find ourselves between a ruined tower on the summit of a volcanic peak on the right, and a spruce hotel in the midst of the Rhine, on a little island to our left. The former is the far-famed Rolandseck, and the latter is the ancient convent of Nonnenwerth converted into a modern caravansera.
ROLAND AND HILDEGUND, OR THE FATAL AFFIANCE.
(Legend the Second.)
The beautiful Hildegund and the valiant Roland (nephew of Charlemagne) were ardently beloved by, and betrothed to each other. Roland, however, postponed his marriage, till he had, once more, unsheathed his sword against the infidels in Palestine. Every day of his absence seemed a year to his Hildegund, who often listened in her bower to the praises of her lover carolled by the boatmen of the Rhine. News arrived that the Holy City was rescued from the Saracens, and that peace was signed:—But Roland returned not. One evening a military knight craved hospitality at her father’s castle. He had just returned from the seat of war, and, to eager enquiries respecting Roland, related the manner of his death on the field of battle, covered with honourable wounds! The effect on the amiable Hildegund may be easily conceived. After a short noviciate in the convent of Nonnenwerth, she took the veil, and next morning her lover arrived at her father’s castle, expecting to fly into her arms! Petrified by the astounding intelligence that Hildegund was wedded to Heaven, Roland abjured all society—built himself a hermitage on the hill overlooking the convent, and sat at its door from morning till night, listening to the matins and vespers that ascended from the living sepulchre of his betrothed. One day he saw a funeral on the island, and soon learnt that it was that of his Hildegund! The next day he was found dead, sitting at the door of his hermitage, his face turned to the convent!
MORAL.
The moral of this tale is homely, but not the less important on that account. The misery resulting from long-existing affiances, where time, or space, or adverse circumstances separate the betrothed, is of daily occurrence, and comes within the observation of every one. How often do we see females kept in this state of uncertainty till every prospect of other settlement in the world has vanished—and, after all, where the happiness of one party is blasted for ever by the death or inconstancy of the other! Protracted courtships are bad enough; but prospective marriages are far worse! Sat verbum sapientibus—or rather amantibus.
A certain personage in the drama of the above legend, is deserving of a passing word—viz. the eaves-dropper—one of those unlucky tale-bearers, whose officious tongues too often destroy the peace of whole families, and that without malice prepense on the part of the babbler!