Chapter XXIV: Godesberg and Rolandseck

_Godesberg_

Within full view of the Seven Mountains, on the opposite bank of the Rhine, is Godesberg,--"a cheerful village with a castle which is a splendid ruin," say the guide-books.

They might go a bit further and recount something of its political and religious history, although usually they do not, but rush the tourist up-river to Coblenz, giving him only a sort of panoramic view of this portion of the Rhine.

Originally a _castellum romain_, the "cheerful village," known to the ancients as Ara Ubiorum, came under the control, in 1210, of the Archbishop Theodoric of Cologne, who built a chapel to St. Michael on the ancient ruins, which, according to tradition, had endured from the times of Julian the Apostate.

For many centuries there was a château here which served as the country-house of many of the archbishop-electors of the Empire, until destroyed by a thunderbolt. In 1593 it was pillaged by the troops of the Archbishop Ernest, and to-day only a great, lone, round tower remains intact.

For the rest it is a fine ruin and a picturesque one.

_Rolandseck_

But a short distance above Godesberg is Rolandseck; opposite which is the island of Nonnenwerth, with which it is associated in a famous legend.

The chivalrous Roland sought the love of some fair being, whose beauty and whose virtues should deserve and retain the heart of so brave and gallant a young knight. Nor did he look about in vain, for Hilda, the daughter of the lord of the Drachenfels, was all that dreams had pictured to his youthful fancy as worthy of an ardent soul's devotion, and soon he was made happy by a confession from the maiden that his passion was returned. Lost in a dream of first love, the knight forgot the world and its struggles, and, in the expectation of an early day for his wedding with his mistress, he lived a life of perfect joy,--now gazing with Hilda upon the windings of the Rhine; now watching her as she stooped gracefully to tend the flowers which peace allowed to flourish under the walls of her father's stronghold.

But Roland lived in times when love was but the bright, transient episode of a life of war. The laws of chivalry forbade a true knight's neglect of duty, and, in the very week in which he was to be wedded, the summons came for him to take the field.

The war was long, and it was three years before Roland left the camp. When he reached the home of his mistress, he received a frightful welcome. The castle was in ruins; its lord was slain; and Hilda, deceived by reports of Roland's death, had taken the veil in the neighbouring convent of Nonnenwerth!

Over the bright path of the young knight a dark and lasting shadow was cast. His early hopes were shattered; the joy of his existence had fled; his spirit bent beneath the weight of his evil fortune. But his faith and constancy were beyond the control of Fate. Retiring to his castle of Rolandseck, he made himself a seat within a window, from which he could look down upon the island of Nonnenwerth and the convent that held his beloved Hilda. Whether she heard of his return tradition does not say; but the rumour of such constancy was perhaps wafted through the nunnery walls. Be that as it may, it is chronicled that, after Roland's watch had been for three years prolonged, he heard one evening the tones of the bell that tolled for a passing soul, and next day the white figures of the nuns were seen bearing a sister to her last home. It was the funeral of Hilda.

The isle of Nonnenwerth and its convent are still there opposite the grim, gaunt, ruined gateway of Rolandseck, a brilliant jewel in an antique setting; and, while neither the conventual buildings nor the ruined château show any unusual architectural features, they are characteristic of the feudal and religious architecture of the middle ages.

Architects of to-day do not build with the same simplicity and grace that they did of old, and these little out-of-the-way gems of architecture are far more satisfying than are similar erections of to-day.