Rolandseck
Knight
Roland
Roland
in der Schlacht von Roncevalles
Nach dem Gemalde von A. Guesnet
I.
The Emperor Charlemagne was surrounded by a circle
of
proud knights, the flower of whom was Count Roland of Angers, nephew of
the
King of the Franks. The name of no knight was so famous in battle and
in
tournaments as his.
Helpless innocency adored him, his friends
admired, and
his enemies esteemed him. His chivalrous spirit had no love for the
luxuries
of life, and scorning to remain inactive at the emperor's court, he
went
to his imperial uncle, begging leave to go and travel in those
countries
of the mighty kingdom of the Franks, which up to that time were unknown
to
him. In his youthful fervour he longed for adventures and dangers. The
emperor
was much grieved to part with the brave knight, but however, he
willingly
complied with his request.
One day early in the morning the gallant hero left
his
uncle's palace near the Seine, and rode towards the Vosges Mountains,
accompanied
by his faithful squire. The first object of his journey was castle
Niedeck
near Haslach, and from there he visited Attic, Duke of Alsace.
He continued his travels, and one evening as he was riding
through the mountains, the glittering waters of the Rhine, washing both
sides
of the plain, greeted him. The river in that part of the country
offered
him few charms in its savage wildness, but he knew that the scenery
would
soon change. He moved on down the Rhine to where a gigantic mountain
shuts
the rushing current into a narrow space. Its foot stands chained in the
floods,
which only in places retire a little, thus leaving the poor folk a
narrow
stretch of land.
On the heights there were proud castles, telling
the
wanderer below of the fame of their illustrious races. Thus Roland made
many
a long journey on his adventurous course down the Rhine. He passed many
a
place rich in old memories: the Lorelei Rock, where the water nymph
sang
at night: the cheerful little spot where St. Goar lived and worked at
the
time of Childebert, the Merovingian, (that wonderful saint who once
spread
a fog over his imperial uncle, compelling him to pass the night in the
open
air, because his Majesty, while journeying from Ingelheim to Coblenz
had
neglected to bend his knee in his chapel) and the green meadows near
Andernach,
where Genovefa, wife of Palatine Count Siegfried lived. And now Roland
neared
the place where the stream reaches the end of the Rhine Valley, and
where
the seven giants are to be seen, the summit of one of which is crowned
with
a castle; there they stand like the seven knights who, in later times
stood
weeping round the holy remains of the German emperor.
A wooded island lay in the deep-blue waters. The
setting
sun threw a golden light over the hills. On the sides of the mountains
there
were numberless vineyards, to the left, hedges of beeches ascending to
the
heights of the rugged summits, to the right, the murmur of the rippling
waters,
and above, visible among the legendary rocks where once a terrible
beast
lived, the pinnacles of a knight's castle, and over all, the heavens
clothed
with a garment of silver stars.
The knight paused in silence; his glance rested
admiringly
on the beautiful picture. His steed pawed the ground uneasily with his
bronze-shod hoofs, and his faithful squire looked anxiously at the
darkening
sky. He reminded his master modestly that it was time to seek shelter
for
the night.
"I should like to beg for it up there," said
Roland
dreamingly, an inexplicable feeling of sweet sadness coming over him
for
the first time. He bade his squire ask the boat-man who was putting out
his
little bark to cross the river, what was the name of the castle? The
castle
was the Drachenburg, where Count Heribert sojourned sometimes. Thus ran
the
answer which pleased Roland very much. He had been charged with many
greetings
and messages to the old count at the Drachenburg from his friends
living
near the upper Rhine. Roland now hesitated no longer, and soon a boat
was
ploughing the dark waves.
II.
In the meantime night had come on. The full moon's
soft
beams showed them their way through the dark forest. Count Heribert, a
worthy
knight in the flower of his age, bade the nephew of his imperial master
heartily
welcome to his castle. Far past midnight they stayed in the count's
chambers,
engaged in entertaining conversation.
The next day Count Heribert presented his daughter
Hildegunde
to the knight. Roland's eves. full of admiration, rested on the
blushing
young maiden. Never before had the charms of a woman awakened any deep
feeling
in his heart; he had only thirsted after glory and deeds of daring,
after
tournaments and feuds. Now the bold champion was struck with a shaft
from
the quiver of love. He who had opposed the dreaded adversary so often,
now
bowed his fearless head in almost girlish confusion before Hildegunde's
charms.
She, too, stood crimsoning deeply before the celebrated hero whose name
was
famous, and who was beloved in all the country round.
The old knight broke up the scene of embarrassing
silence
between the youthful couple with gay laughing words, and conducted his
guest
through the high halls of his castle.
Roland tarried longer at the friendly castle than he had
ever
done before in any other place in the country. He seemed bound to the
blissful
spot by love's indissoluble chains, and so it happened that one day
these
two found themselves, hand in hand, the deep love in their hearts
rushing
forth in ardent words. Count Heribert bestowed his lovely daughter very
willingly
on the celebrated knight, his only desire being to complete the
happiness
of his child whom he loved so dearly. A castle should be erected for
her
on the heights of the rocks on the other side of the Rhine, opposite
the
Drachenburg, and this proud tort on the rugged rocky corner of the
mountain,
should be a watch-tower for the glorious Seven Mountains and their
castle.
In later times it became the famous Rolandseck. Soon the walls could be
seen
raising themselves up, and every day the lovers stood On the balcony of
the
Drachenburg looking across, where industrious workmen and masons were
busily
toiling. Hildegunde began to weave sweet dreams of the future round her
new
home, where she meant to chain the adventurous hero with true love.
But one day a messenger appeared at the
Drachenburg on
a horse white with foam. He was sent by Charlemagne and brought the
tidings
.of a crusade which the .emperor had decreed against the Infidels
beyond
the Pyrenees. Charlemagne desired to have the famous knight among the
leaders
of his army. Roland received the message of his great master in
silence.
He looked at Hildegunde who with a death-like face was standing beside
him.
Grief stabbed cruelly at his heart, but he must obey the call of honour
and
duty, and, informing the royal messenger that he would arrive at the
imperial
camp in three days, he turned sorrowfully away, Hildegunde sobbing at
his
side.
III.
The cross and the crescent were fighting furiously
for
the upper hand in Spain. Terrible battles were fought, and much blood
flowed
from both Christians and Infidels. Bloody victories were gained by the
emperor's
brave knights, the chief .of whom was Roland. His sword forced a
triumphant
way for Charlemagne, it guarded his army, passing victoriously through
the
unknown country of the enemies. But the sad day of Ronceval, so often
sung
by German and other poets was yet to come. Separated from the main body
of
the army, Roland's brave rearguard was making its way through the dusky
forest.
Suddenly wild shouts sounded from the heights, and the cowardly Moor
pressed
down on the little band, threatening them with destruction. But the
noble
Franks fought like lions. Roland's charger, Brilliador, flew now here,
now
there, and many a Saracen was hewn down by its noble rider's sword,
Durand.
But numbers conquer bravery. The little army of Franks became less and
less,
and at last Roland sank, struck by the lance of a gigantic Moor. The
combat
continued furiously round him. When night spread mournfully over the
battle-field, the Infidels had already done their terrible work. The
Franks
lay dead; only a few had escaped from the slaughter.
"Where is Roland?" was the frightened cry from
pale
lips. He was not among the saved. "Where is Roland?" asked Charlemagne
anxiously
of the messengers. Through the whole kingdom their answers seemed to
resound,
Roland the hero had fallen in battle fighting against the Saracens;
wherever
this cry was heard, it awakened deep sorrow.
The news soon spread as far as the Rhine, and one
day
the imperial messengers appeared at the Drachenburg, bringing the sad
tidings
and the deepest sympathy of the emperor. Heribert sighed deeply on
hearing
the news and covered his eyes with his hands; Hildegunde's grief was
heart-breaking. Before the altar of the Queen of sorrows she lay
sobbing
her heart out, imploring for comfort in her great need. For days on end
she shut herself up in her little bower, and even her father's gentle
sympathy
could not assuage her bitter grief.
Weeks passed. Then one day the pale maiden
.entered the
knight's chamber, her grief quite transfigured. He drew her softly
towards
him, and then she revealed the resolution which was in her heart. Count
Heribert
was overwhelmed with grief, but he pressed a loving kiss on her pure
forehead.
The day came, when down below on the island Nonnenwert, the
convent bells rang solemnly. A new novice, Count Heribert's lovely
daughter,
knelt before the altar. In the holy stillness of the convent she sought
the
peace which she could not find in the castle of her father. With a last
great
convulsive sob she had torn her lover's name from her heart, had
quenched
the flame of sorrowing love for him, and now her soul was to be filled
ever
with the holy fire of the love of God. In vain her afflicted father
hoped
that the unaccustomed loneliness of the convent would shake her
resolution,
and that when the first year's trial was over, she would return to him.
But
no! the pious young maiden fervently begged the bishop, who was a
relation
of her father, to release her from the year's trial and to allow her
after
a short time to take her final vows. Her longing desire was fulfilled.
After
a month Hildegunde's golden locks were no more, and the lovely daughter
of
the Drachenburg was dedicated to the Lord forever.
IV.
Time rolled on. Spring had vanished and the
sheaves were
ripening in the fields. Where the river reaches the end of the Rhine
valley
crowned by the Seven Giants, a knight with his horse stopped to rest.
Far
away in the south, where the valley of Ronceval lies bathed in
sunshine,
he had lain in the hut of a poor herd. There the faithful squire had
dragged
his master pierced by a Moorish lance. The bold hero and leader had
remained
for weeks and months on his sick-bed struggling with death, till the
force
of his iron nature had at last conquered. Roland was recovering under
loving
care, while they were mourning him as dead in the land of the Franks.
Then
having recovered, he hurried back to the Rhine urged by an irresistible
longing.
A wooded island lay in the deep-blue waters. The
setting
sun threw a golden light over the hills; numberless vineyards flanked
the
mountains, hedges of beeches were on one side, the murmur of waters on
the
other, and above the pinnacles of a knight's castle among the legendary
rocks
where once a terrible beast lived, over all the heavens clothed with a
garment
of silver stars.
Silently the knight paused, his glance resting
admiringly
on the beautiful picture. Now as in months before an inexplicable
feeling
of sweet sadness came over the dreamer.
"Hildegunde!" murmured Roland, glancing up at the
starry
heavens. Again as formerly a boat-man rowed across the stream, and
Roland
soon was striding through the forest towards the Drachenburg,
accompanied
by his faithful squire.
The old watchman at the castle stared at the late
guest,
and crossing himself, he rushed up to the chambers of his master. A
man's
figure, bent with age and sorrow, tottered forward. "Roland!" he gasped
forth.
The knight supported the broken-down old man in his arms. When Roland
had
departed long ago, his grief had found no tears; now they flowed
abundantly
down his cheeks.
The knight tore himself from the other's arms.
"Where is she?" he asked in a hoarse voice,
"dead?"
Count Heribert looked at him with unspeakable
sorrow.
"Hildegunde, bride of Roland whom they supposed dead, is now a bride of
Heaven."
The hero groaned aloud, covering his face with his
hands.
In spring he left the Drachenburg and went to the
castle
on the rocky corner, and there he laid down his arms for ever; his
thirst
for action was quenched. Day by day he sat over there, looking silently
down
on the green island in the Rhine, where the nun, Hildegunde, wandered
about
among the flowers in the convent garden every morning. Sometimes indeed
it
seemed that she bowed kindly to him, then the knight's face would be
lighted
up with a gleam of his old happiness.
But even this joy was taken from him, One day his
beloved
did not appear; and soon the death-bell tolled sorrowfully over the
island.
He saw a coffin which they were carrying to its last resting-place, and
he
heard the nuns chanting the service for the dead, he saw them all, only
one
was wanting . . . then he covered his face. He knew whom they were
carrying
to the grave.
Autumn came, withering the fresh green on
Hildegunde's
tomb. But Roland still kept his watch, gazing motionlessly at the
little
churchyard, and one day his squire found him there, cold and dead, his
half-closed eyes turned towards the place where his loved one was
sleeping.
For many a century the proud castle which they
called
Rolandseck, crowned the mountain. Then it fell into ruins, like the
mighty
Drachenburg, the tower of which is still standing. Fifty years ago the
last
arches of Roland's castle were blown down one stormy night, but later
on
they were built up again in memory of this tale of true and faithful
love
in the olden times.
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