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diff --git a/23819.txt b/23819.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..55b6a11 --- /dev/null +++ b/23819.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6102 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, La Chanson de Roland, by Léon Gautier, +Translated by Léonce Rabillon + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: La Chanson de Roland + + +Author: Léon Gautier + + + +Release Date: December 11, 2007 [eBook #23819] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LA CHANSON DE ROLAND*** + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Turgut Dincer, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +LA CHANSON DE ROLAND + +Translated from the Seventh Edition of Leon Gautier, +Professor at the Ecole des Chartes, Paris. + +by + +LEONCE RABILLON, + +Licencie en droit, Paris University, French Lecturer at +Johns Hopkins University. + + + + + + + +New York +Henry Holt and Company +1885 + +Copyright, 1885 +by +Henry Holt & Co. +W. L. Mershon & Co., +Printers and Electrotypers, +Rahway, N. J. + + + + + TO + + DANIEL C. GILMAN, + + _President of Johns Hopkins University_, + + _THIS TRANSLATION_ + + _IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED._ + + + + + PREFACE. + + +Several years ago, the maker of this version translated into French one +of the early works of H. W. Longfellow. This circumstance was not +forgotten by the American poet who kindly consented to listen to this +new attempt at rendering into English the "CHANSON DE ROLAND." + +To his encouragement is due the present publication. The writer will +ever proudly treasure up the remembrance of his friendly welcome and +counsel.... + + * * * * * + +The translator has followed, as literally as possible, the text of the +Oxford MS., as revised by Leon Gautier. The parts inclosed in +parentheses are interpolations of the learned Professor. This revised +text should be kept in hand by the English reader for comparison with +the original, which is nine centuries old. The translator may thus be +more likely to obtain the indulgence of the reader for the quaint +representation, in a modern language, of the coloring of this most +ancient poem. + +The orthography of all the names, as well as their prosodic accent, has +been preserved in their ancient form; and accordingly, an index has been +appended to the work. + +The seventh edition of Leon Gautier's "CHANSON DE ROLAND," contains a +vast amount of explanatory notes, grammatical and historical, to which +the reader is referred. + + +HISTORY OF THE POEM. + +On the 15th of August, 778, in a little Pyrenean Valley, still known in +our days by the name of Ronceval, a terrible event took place. +Charlemagne, returning from his expedition to Spain, crossed that valley +and the Pyrenees, leaving his rear-guard in command of Roland, Prefect +of the Marches of Brittany. His main army had passed unmolested; but at +the moment when the rear-guard advanced into the defiles of the +mountain, thousands of Gascons rushed from their ambush, fell upon the +French army and slaughtered the whole guard to the last man. So perished +Roland. + +Eginhard, the historian of Charlemagne, terminates his narrative with +these words: "The House-intendant, (Regiae mensae praepositus), Eggihard, +Anselm, Count of the Palace, Roland, Prefect of the Marches of Brittany +(Hruolandus britannici limitis praefectus), with many more, perished in +the fight. It was not possible to take revenge on the spot. The +treacherous attempt once perpetrated, the enemy dispersed and left no +trace." (Eginhard's Life of Charlemagne, Vol. I., p. 31; edition of the +Societe de l'histoire de France.) + +From the moment of the defeat of Ronceval, legend commenced its labor +upon this truly epic event which, in its origin, is absolutely French, +but has found its echoes throughout Europe, from Iceland to Eastern +regions. + +The commentators generally agree in dating the composition of the Poem +before the first crusade in the year 1096. The author, it is +ascertained, was Norman, the dialect used by him being Norman +throughout. Whether this author was really Turoldus, named in the last +line of the Poem, is a point which Leon Gautier refuses to affirm. We +refer the reader to the very interesting preface of _Genin_, and to the +learned introductions of Leon Gautier, for more complete information. + + * * * * * + +The word "_Aoi_," which is placed at the end of every stanza, and found in +no other ancient French poems, is interpreted differently by the +commentators. M. Francisque Michel assimilated it at first to the +termination of an ecclesiastical chant--Preface, xxvii.--and later to +the Saxon _Abeg_, or the English _Away_, as a sort of refrain which the +"_jongleur_" repeated at the end of the couplets. M. Genin explains it by +_ad viam_, a vei, avoie, away! it is done, let us go on! + +M. Gautier, with his skeptical honesty, declares the word unexplained. +See Note 9, p. 4, of his seventh edition. + + +MANUSCRIPTS. + +The most complete and ancient is that of Oxford, in the Bodleian +Library, marked "Digby, 23," a copy of the XIIth. century. All others +are _Rifaccimenti_, Refashionings. + +Two in Venice, in St. Mark Library, XIIIth. century; French MSS., No. 4 +& 7. + +In the National Library, Paris, No. 860, XIIIth. century. + +The Versailles MS., now deposited in the Library of Chateauroux, a copy +of which is in Paris Nat. Library; 15, 108; XIIIth. century. + +In the Lyons Library, 964; XIVth. century. + +In Cambridge, Trinity Collage, R. 3-32; XVIth. century. + +One called the Lorrain, a fragment found near Metz. + +The Karlomagnus Saga, an Icelandic copy of the Oxford MS.; XIIIth. +century. + + * * * * * + +In M. Petit de Julleville's Introduction to his version can be found a +chronological list of the works which concern the "CHANSON DE ROLAND," +the translations of it, and dissertations on the subject in France and +Germany. + + * * * * * + +There are twenty-one translations in different languages: + +Four in German, by Th. Mueller, Hertz, Boehmer, Eug. Koelbing. + +One in Polish, by Mad. Duchinska. + +One in Danish, by Unger. + +One in Icelandish, Karlomagnus' Saga. + +Twelve in French, by Francisque Michel, Bourdillon, Delecluze, Genin, P. +Paris, Vitet, Jonain, de Saint-Albin, d'Avril, Petit de Julleville, +Lehugeur and Leon Gautier, of whose translation seven editions were +issued. + +Two in English, one in England by J. O'Hagan, and one in America, the +latest and present one. + +Besides, a version from Vitet's French paraphrase, by Mrs. Marsh. + + * * * * * + + + + SARRAGOSSA. + + COUNCIL HELD BY KING MARSILE. + + + I. + + Carle our most noble Emperor and King, + Hath tarried now full seven years in Spain, + Conqu'ring the highland regions to the sea; + No fortress stands before him unsubdued, + Nor wall, nor city left, to be destroyed, + Save Sarraguce, high on a mountain set. + There rules the King Marsile who loves not God, + Apollo worships and Mohammed serves; + Nor can he from his evil doom escape. + Aoi. + + + II. + + The King Marsile abides in Sarraguce + Where underneath an orchard's leafy shade, + Upon a terrace with blue marble paved + He rests. Around him twenty thousand men + And more are ranked. His Dukes and Counts he calls: + "Oyez, _Seigneurs_, what gath'ring ills are ours: + Great Carle, the Emperor who rules Sweet France + Comes to this land to 'whelm us with his might. + To give him battle I no army have, + Nor people to array against his host: + Your counsel give me, Lords, as my wise men, + And so defend your King from death and shame;" + But answer none a single Pagan gave, + Save Blancandrin _del Castel Val-Fonde_. + Aoi. + + + III. + + Blancandrin, 'midst the wisest Pagans wise, + Who, in his vassalage a valiant knight, + Most prudent counsels gave to help his lord, + Said to the King:--"Be not by this dismayed! + To Carle the proud, the fierce, send messengers + With words of faith and love. Send to him gifts + Of bears and lions, packs of dogs; present + Seven hundred camels also, fifty score + Of molted[1] falcons, and four hundred mules + With heavy weight of gold and silver packed; + Then fifty chariots with their burthens heaped: + Well can this treasure all his soldiers pay. + Within this land he long enough has camped. + To France--to Aix let him at last return; + There will you join him on Saint-Michael's feast, + Accept the Christian law, and swear to be + His man in faith and honor. Should he ask + Hostages, ten or twenty grant, to lure + His trust; let us send our wives' sons. Mine--although + He die, I give. Far better that their heads + Should fall than we lose honor and domain, + Than we ourselves to beggary be brought." + Aoi. + + + IV. + + He further said:--"By this right hand of mine, + And by the beard the air waves on my breast, + Soon shall you see the host of Franks disperse; + To France, their land, the Franks will take their way. + When each has gained the shelter of his home, + King Carle will in his chapel be at Aix, + To celebrate Saint Michael's solemn feast. + The day will come, the term allowed will pass, + And from us shall he hear nor word nor news. + The King is fierce, his soul is hard; and thus + Each hostage head beneath his sword shall fall. + 'Twere better far that these should lose their heads + Than we for aye lose glorious Spain the Fair, + And suffer so great ills and doleful woes." + Then say the Pagans:--"This may be the truth." + Aoi. + + + V. + + Hereat the King Marsile the council closed. + Then summon'd he Clarin de Balaguer, + Estramarin and Eudropin his peer; + With Priamon Guarlan the bearded knight, + And Machiner together with Mahen + His uncle, Joimer and Malbien born + Beyond the sea, and Blancandrin, to hear + His words. These ten, the fiercest, he addressed: + "Seigneurs Barons, ye shall go toward Carl'magne; + He to Cordres, the city, now lays siege. + Bear in each hand a branch of olive-tree + In token of humility and peace. + If by your arts his favor you can gain, + I give of gold and silver, lands and fiefs + To each, whatever he may ask of me." + The Pagans answer all:--["Well said our lord!"] + Aoi. + + + VI. + + Marsile his council closed:--"My Lords, ye shall + Set forth;--an olive branch bear in each hand: + And in my name adjure King Carlemagne + That by his God he mercy have on me; + And ere a month be past, he shall behold + Me follow with a thousand faithful knights, + There to submit myself to Christian law + And be his man in love and faith; and if + He hostages require, them shall he have." + Quoth Blancandrin:--"Good treaty will be yours." + Aoi. + + + VII. + + Marsile then ordered forth the ten white mules + The King of Sicily once sent to him;-- + Golden their bits--their saddles silver-wrought-- + And on them mounted his ambassadors. + Thus holding each a branch of olive-tree, + They rode away and came to Carle of France. + Nor can he from the treacherous snare escape. + Aoi. + + + + + COUNCIL OF CHARLEMAGNE AT + CORDOBA. + + + VIII. + + Cheerful and blithe the Emp'ror, for Cordres + Has been subdued, its massy walls o'erthrown, + Its towers by mighty catapults destroyed; + And there his knights have found abundant spoils + Of gold and silver, and rich garnitures. + Nor was one Pagan in the city left + Alive, who did not own the Christian Faith. + Now is the Emperor within a wide + And spreading orchard; there around him stand + Rolland and Olivier, Samsun the Duke, + And Anseis the bold, Gefrei d'Anjou, + Gonfaloneer of Carle, and also there + Gerin and Gerier. Where these were, came + Of others many more. In all, from France + Were gathered fully fifteen thousand knights. + Upon white _pallies_[2] sit these chevaliers; + They play at tables[3] to divert themselves; + The wiser and the elder play at chess. + In mimic sword-play strive the joyous youths. + Under a pine-tree, near an eglantine, + Is placed a faldstool of pure gold whereon + Sits he, the King--great Ruler of Sweet France. + White is his beard, his head all flowering white; + Graceful his form and proud his countenance; + None need to point him out to those who come + The Pagan messengers, dismounting, stood + Before him, proffering humble faith and love. + Aoi. + + + IX. + + Blancandrin was the first to speak, and said + Unto the king:--"Hail! in the name of God, + The Glorious One we must adore! To you + I bring this message from Marsile the brave: + Well has he studied your Salvation's Law; + And would upon you lavish his great wealth. + Bears--lions--packs of hounds enchained he gives, + Seven hundred camels also--fifty score + Of molted falcons--mules, four hundred, packed + With gold and silver--fifty carts to carry + These gifts, and _bezants_[4] of the purest gold + He also sends, which will your soldiers pay. + Too long within our land you have remained; + To France--to Aix he wills you straight return. + There will he follow you: so says my lord." + To God the Emperor uplifts his hands; + Bends low his head and counsel takes in thought. + Aoi. + + + X. + + The Emperor sat silent with drooped head. + Ne'er rash in words, he never speaks in haste. + At last he rose. Proudly he looked and spake + Unto the messengers:--"Ye have well said + That King Marsile e'er stood my greatest foe! + On these fair-seeming words how far can I + Rely?" The crafty Saracen replied: + "Would you have hostages? you shall have ten, + Fifteen, yea, twenty. Though his fate be death + My son shall go, and others nobler still, + I deem. When to your lordly palace, home + Returned--when comes Saint Michael del Peril, + His feast, my Lord will follow to those springs, + He says, brought forth by God for you, and there + Baptized, a faithful Christian will become!" + Carl'magne makes answer:--"He may yet be saved!" + Aoi. + + + XI. + + The eve was soft and fair, the sunset bright; + The ten mules stabled by the King's command; + In the great orchard a pavilion raised + To house the messengers, his Pagan guests. + Twelve sergeants to their service were assigned, + And there they rested till the dawn repelled + The night. With day the Emperor arose; + Heard mass and matins first, then having gone + Beneath a stately pine, he summons all + His wisest barons, council grave to hold, + Thus ever guided by the men of France. + Aoi. + + + XII. + + Beneath a pine the Monarch has repaired; + His barons to the council called: the Duke + Ogier--Archbishop Turpin--old Richard, + Also his nephew Henri, and the brave + Count Acelin of Gascuigne--Tedbald + De Reins--his cousin Milon--Gerier, + Gerin, together with the Count Rolland, + And Olivier, the brave and noble knight. + One thousand Franks of France and more were met-- + Then Ganelon came, who treason wrought; and now + Was opened that ill-fated council thus: + Aoi. + + + XIII. + + "Seigneurs Barons," began the Emp'ror Carle, + "The King Marsile his messengers hath sent + To offer me large store of his great wealth; + Bears--lions--hounds in leash;--of camels he + Gives seven hundred--falcons, fifty score-- + Four hundred mules packed high with Arab gold, + And more than fifty chariots loaded full; + But he demands that I return to France. + There will he follow: then arrived at Aix, + Will in my palace take Salvation's Faith, + Will Christ obey, and hold his lands from me; + But what is in his heart, I do not know." + The French exclaim:--"Of him we must beware!" + Aoi. + + + XIV. + + The Emp'ror ended thus. But Count Rolland + Approving not the terms, stands forth and speaks + Unto the King with arguments adverse: + "Trust never more Marsile. 'Tis full seven years + Since we came into Spain. For you I took + Both Noples and Commibles; gained Valterne + And all the land of Pine, and Balaguer, + And Tuele and Sebile--yet King Marsile + Still plotting treachery, sent from his horde + Of Pagans, fifteen men; each bore in hand + Like these, a branch of olive-tree, and spake + The self-same words. On that you counsel took + From your too lightly flattering French; two Counts + Of yours you to the Pagan sent, the one, + Bazan, Bastile the other, and their heads + He struck off near Haltoie. As you began, + War on! To Sarraguce your army lead, + Besiege her walls, though all your life it take, + And thus avenge the knights the felon slew." + Aoi. + + + XV. + + At this the Emperor, bending low his head, + Twists his mustache and plucks his hoary beard, + Answering his nephew neither yea nor nay. + The Franks keep silence--all save Ganelon + Who rose and stood before the King, and spake + Bold words and haughty:--"Put not faith in fools, + Nor me nor others; follow your own rede! + Since King Marsile makes offer to become + Your man, with hands joined; furthermore will hold + Spain as a fief from you; yea, will receive + Our law as his law, he who counsel gives + Such proffer to reject, cares not a whit + What death we die. No counsel take of pride; + Let pass the fools and listen to the wise." + Aoi. + + + XVI. + + And now Duke Naimes arose: his beard and hair + As white as drifted snow. In all the court + No better vassal stood; and to the King: + "Have you marked well the words Count Ganelon + In answer spoke but now? His plan is wise; + Follow it then. This King Marsile in war + Is overcome, his strongholds all pulled down; + By warlike engines are his walls destroyed, + His cities burned, his men subdued;--when now + He for your mercy prays, foul sin it were + To press him harder. Since he, furthermore + Will bind his word by gift of hostages, + [One of your barons also send to him.] + In truth no longer this great war should rage." + The French all cry:--"Duke Naimes has spoken well." + Aoi. + + + XVII. + + "Seigneurs Barons, which of you shall we send + To meet the King Marsile in Sarraguce?" + Duke Naimes responds:--"I, with your leave will go; + Give me the glove and staff."--"Nay," quoth King Carle, + "A sage you are in council, well I know: + By this mustache and by this beard of mine, + So far away from me you shall not go. + Back to your seat, since none hath summoned you." + Aoi. + + + XVIII. + + "Seigneurs Barons, which of you shall we send + As messengers to Sarraguce where rules + Marsile?"--Rolland responds:--"Behold me here!" + "--You shall not, by my troth!" cries Olivier, + "Your pride too fierce, and courage far too hot; + I fear some misadventure from your zeal. + Should our King grant me but his leave, 'tis I + Will go!"--The King exclaimed:--"Be silent both-- + Nor you, nor he, shall yonder set your foot! + Ay, by this hoary beard of mine, I swear, + Not one of my twelve Peers shall thither go." + The French are dumb---all silenced by these words. + Aoi. + + + XIX. + + Turpin de Reins arises from the ranks + And to the King he says: "Let your Franks stay, + To this land seven years ago you came, + And they have suffered much of toil and pain. + Give me the glove and staff, and I will go + And speak my mind to that proud Saracen." + With anger great the Emperor replies: + "Back to your seat on yonder _pallie_ white + Nor speak another word, save by command!" + Aoi. + + + XX. + + Then said the Emperor:--"Chevaliers of France, + Choose ye for me a baron of my realm, + One who can bear my words to King Marsile!" + Rolland rejoins:--"Let my step-father go; + If he remain, no wiser man is found." + The French say:---"Well can he fulfill the task: + [If the King wills, 'tis right he should be sent."] + Aoi. + + + XXI. + + Thus spoke the King:--"Sire Ganelon, draw near: + Receive the glove and staff--you heard the Franks + Pass judgment, and on you their choice has fallen." + Said Ganelon:--"All this Rolland has done! + My life-long, never will I love him more, + Nor Olivier, his comrade and his friend, + Nor the twelve Peers, for that they love him well. + Here in your presence, I defy them all!" + The King replied:--"Too wroth you are. At once + You shall depart.--I spoke it."--"Sire, I go, + Although for me there is nor shield nor guard: + Basile had none, Bazan, his brother, none! + Aoi. + + + XXII. + + "To Sarraguce I go, and know full well + Who thither goes, may ne'er return. Nay more, + Your sister is my wife, and I by her + Have one fair son, Baldewin, the goodliest child + Who [if he live] will be a noble knight. + To him I leave my fiefs and honors: guard + Him well, for him these eyes no more shall see." + Carle answers:--"Much too tender is your heart; + Since I command, your duty 'tis to go." + Aoi. + + + XXIII. + + Count Ganelon, at this, rose full of wrath, + And, casting from his neck his zibelline + Of fur, stood forth, clothed in his silk _blialt._[5] + Gray were his eyes and very fierce his face; + Graceful his form--his breast, of mighty mold. + So fair was he, all eyes upon him rest. + "Rolland," he said, "wherefore this foolish wrath? + Since thy step-father, 'tis well known, I am, + For this thou choosest me to seek Marsile! + 'Tis well. If God but grant me safe return, + I such ill fortune hurl on thee, shall smite + Thy life from now and ever with a curse." + Rolland replies:--"Mad words and proud I hear. + All know it well, I care for no man's threat; + But since a wise man must this message bear, + If the King wills it, in your place I go." + Aoi. + + + XXIV. + + "Thou shalt not take my place," said Ganelon; + "My vassal art thou not, nor yet am I + Thy lord; and since the King hath given me + Command this service I should take, I shall + Go to Marsile. But once in Sarraguce + Will I with fuel feed my heart's fierce ire." + Rolland, on hearing this, began to laugh. + Aoi. + + + XXV. + + When Ganelon saw the laughter of Rolland, + It seemed as though his breast would burst with wrath; + His brain was well-nigh maddened by his rage. + Unto the Count he cried:--"I love you not; + This judgment have you caused on me to fall! + Right Emp'ror, in your presence, lo! I stand, + And I am ready to fulfill your word." + Aoi. + + + XXVI. + + The King presents to him his right hand glove; + But Ganelon would well have ne'er stood there, + For ere he touched the royal glove, it fell. + The French exclaim:--"What bodes this omen? Shall + This embassy not have a woeful end?--" + "_Seigneurs_," said Ganelon, "you will hear of this!" + Aoi. + + + XXVII. + + Said Ganelon:--"Give me dismissal, Sire! + Since I must go, my time is precious." Then + Adjured the King:--"For Jesus' sake and mine!" + With his right hand he Ganelon absolved + And blessed, deliv'ring up the brief and staff. + Aoi. + + + XXVIII. + + Count Ganelon his own house seeks, to make + Equipment and prepare his arms: his choice + The best that he can find. With golden spurs + He clasps his heels; belts to his side his sword, + Murgleis, and mounts his courser Tachebrun. + His uncle Guinemer the stirrup held; + There many a chevalier you might have seen + In tears, who said: "Baron, such evil fate + Was yours. You, in the King's Court so long, and there + Revered as liege-man high!--The man who judged + That you should go, not Carle himself shall cure + Or save; the Count Rolland bethought him not + Of that high lineage whence you sprang!"--And they + Entreat:--"My lord with you take us along!" + But Ganelon replies:--"Lord God forbid! + Better to die alone than with me fall + So many brave!--Lords, to sweet France ye will go. + Salute for me my wife, and Pinabel, + My friend and peer, and my son Baldewin whom + Ye all know--guard him--hold him for your lord." + The Count departs and goes upon his way. + Aoi. + + + + + THE EMBASSY AND CRIME OF GANELON. + + + XXIX. + + The Count rides on beneath tall olive trees + And joins the messengers of King Marsile. + To meet him Blancandrin has checked his speed: + With skillful words each to the other spake. + Blancandrin said: "A wond'rous man is Carle + Who conquered Pouille and overran Calabre, + Crossed the salt-seas to England, and from thence + Gained tribute for _Saint-Pierre_. In this our land + What claims he?" "Such his might," said Ganelon, + "No man shall ever match with him in arms." + Aoi. + + + XXX. + + Said Blancandrin: "The Franks are noble, but + Those Dukes, those Counts harm much their lord, who give + To him such counsels, wronging him and all." + Ganelon answered: "No man, save Rolland, + Know I, who should this blame incur; it was + But yestermorn, the King sat in the shade, + When Rolland came before him, all encased + In glittering arms, fresh from the siege and sack + Of Carcasonne, holding an apple red; + And thus his uncle greeted: 'Sire, behold! + I lay the crowns of all Kings at your feet.' + Swift punishment should overtake such pride, + For ev'ry day he blindly runs to death. + Were he but slain, all lands might rest in peace." + Aoi. + + + XXXI. + + Blancandrin said: "Most cruel is Rolland + Who makes all nations cry for mercy thus, + And will o'er all the lands his power impose. + Upon what people doth he then rely + For such attempt?" Ganelon said: "The French!... + They love him so, they fail him ne'er in aught. + Lavish is he of gifts: Silver and gold, + Mules, chargers, silken robes and garnitures, + He gives the King himself all that he craves; + From here to the far East, all lands must fall!" + Aoi. + + + XXXII. + + Blancandrin with Count Ganelon rode on, + Until together had they pledged their faith + To snare Rolland and lead him to his death. + Thus on they rode through vales and mountain-paths, + Till Sarraguce was reached. Beneath a yew + They lighted: a faldstool by shady pines + O'erhung, was spread with Alexandrine silk. + There sat the King who ruled all Spain, and stood + Around him twenty thousand Saracens, + Who neither spoke nor breathed, to hear the news; + And lo! came Blancandrin with Ganelon. + Aoi. + + + XXXIII. + + Blancandrin stepped before the Pagan King + With Ganelon the Count held by the wrist. + Thus to Marsile he said: "Mohammed save + The King! Apollo, too, whose holy law + We keep. We bore your message to Carl'magne; + Both hands he lifted, praying to his God; + No other answer gave.--He sends you here + One of his noble Barons, a rich Frank. + Learn from his lips if it be peace or war." + Responds Marsile: "Then let him speak. We hear!" + Aoi. + + + XXXIV. + + Then Ganelon, who well had weighed his thoughts, + Begins to speak as one of knowledge vast, + And says unto the King: "By God be saved, + The Glorious God we must adore! Carl'magne + The Baron, sends his message to Marsile: + The holy Christian Faith if you receive, + One half of Spain he grants to you in fief. + These terms refuse, and your fair Sarraguce + He will besiege, and drag you forth in chains + To Aix, his royal city, there to meet + A felon's doom."--Quivering with rage and fear, + The King Marsile, who held a gold-winged dart, + Aims it at him; but others stayed his hand. + Aoi. + + + XXXV. + + The King Marsile turned pale, and full of wrath, + Brandished the shaft of his winged dart on high. + Ganelon saw, laid hand upon his sword, + And quick unsheathed two fingers' breadth of blade, + Saying: "Sword of mine you are most fair and bright; + As long as by me borne in this King's court, + Never shall say the Emperor of France + Ganelon died alone in foreign land, + Ere a high price for you the best have paid!" + The Pagans cry in haste: "Check this affray." + Aoi. + + + XXXVI. + + The wisest Pagans urged the wrathful King, + Till, yielding, on his throne he has resumed + His seat. The Kalif said: "Great wrong you brought + Upon us, menacing to strike the Frank. + You should have hearkened to his words." "This wrong," + Said Ganelon, "I calmly will endure; + But for the gold that God hath made all wealth + Stored in this land, I would not leave untold, + While I have power of speech, the message sent + By Carle, the mighty Emperor, through me + His messenger, to thee his mortal foe." + Ganelon on the ground his mantle dropped + Of Alexandrine silk, and richly lined + With zibelline; Blancandrin took it up: + But from his sword the Count would never part; + And his right hand still grasps the golden hilt. + The Pagans say:--"Behold a Baron true!" + Aoi. + + + XXXVII. + + Then Ganelon strode nearer to the King + And said:--"All idle is this wrath of yours. + This is the message of King Carle of France; + Hear his command:--"Receive the Christian law"-- + One half of Spain he grants to you in fief, + And to Rolland, his nephew, he will give + The other half. (A haughty partner he + Will prove.) To this agreement should you not + Consent, 'gainst Sarraguce his host will lay + The siege; by force you will be tak'n and bound, + And brought to Aix, the royal seat. Hope not + To ride on palfrey, nor on steed, on mule + Female or male;--on a vile beast of burden + You shall be thrown, and doomed to have your head + Struck off.--Behold the Brief our Emp'ror sends!" + With his right hand he gives it to the King. + Aoi. + + + XXXVIII. + + White with exceeding wrath, the King Marsile + Has brok'n the seal, let fall the wax on earth, + And, glancing on the Brief, has read the script: + "I learn from Carle who holds France in his sway, + That I should bear in mind his ire and grief: + Bazan--Basile, his brother, they whose heads + I took on Mount Haltoie, his anger's cause. + If I my body's life would save, to him + The Kalif, my good uncle, I must send, + Or else can he ne'er be my friend."--Then spake + To King Marsile his son:--"This Ganelon," + Said he, "speaks madly, and such wrong hath done, + That he should live no more. Now give him up + To me, that I to him quick justice deal!" + Ganelon, hearing this, unsheathed his sword, + And set his back against a branching pine. + Aoi. + + + XXXIX. + + Into his orchard King Marsile repaired, + Attended only by his wisest men; + Came thither too the gray-haired Blancandrin + With Turfaleu his son and heir; with them + The Kalif, brother and good friend of King + Marsile.--Said Blancandrin:--"Recall the Frank; + To serve us he has pledged his faith."--The King + Replied:--"Go, bring him hither."--Then he took + Ganelon's fingers into his right hand, + And brought him to the grove before the King; + And lo! was woven there the traitor's plot. + Aoi. + + + XL. + + The King Marsile said:--"Fair Sire Ganelon, + Unwise and all too hasty was I, when + In my great wrath I poised my lance to strike. + This gift of sables take as your amends: + More than five hundred marks their weight in gold. + Before to-morrow-eve the boon is yours." + Ganelon answers:--"I reject it not. + May God, if 'tis his will, your grace reward." + Aoi. + + + XLI. + + Marsile spake thus:--"Sire Ganelon, believe, + Much I desire to love you, and of Carle + I crave to hear. Is he not old, his prime + Has he not passed? Men tell me he has lived + More than two hundred years; his body dragged + Throughout so many lands; so many blows + Upon his shield!--So many mighty Kings + To beggary reduced!--When will he cease + To march on battle-fields?"--Then Ganelon + Responded:--"Such is not King Carle; no man + Alive who sees and knows him but will tell + How our great Emperor is Baron true. + I could not praise and honor him enough, + For no man lives so valiant and so good. + His valor ... who on earth could ever tell? + His soul God with such virtue has illumed, + I'd rather die than quit my noble lord!" + Aoi. + + + XLII. + + The Pagan said:--"Amazed am I at Carle + So old and so white-haired; his age, I know, + Two hundred years and more. His limbs he toiled + Across so many lands; so oft was struck + By swords and spears; so many kings compelled + To beg!--When will he cease to war?"--"Carle?--ne'er!" + Ganelon answered, "while his nephew lives: + No vassal like him 'neath the starry arch; + And bold as he his comrade Olivier. + The twelve Peers held by Carle so dear, behold! + The vanguard form of twenty thousand knights; + With them King Carle is safe, and fears no man." + Aoi. + + + XLIII. + + Again the Pagan:--"I am wonder-struck + On knowing Carle so old and so white-haired! + Methinks he passed two hundred years; by arms + He won so many lands--so many wounds + In battle he received from trenchant swords! + So many powerful kings on battle-fields + Conquered or slew!--When will he cease to war?" + "--Never!"--said Ganelon, "while lives Rolland: + From here to farthest east no knight his peer + E'er lived: his comrade too, Count Olivier, + Is brave; and the twelve Peers, so dear to Carle, + The van-guard make of twenty thousand knights. + Carle may have peace, and fears no living man!" + Aoi. + + + XLIV. + + "Fair Sire," said King Marsile to Ganelon, + "Than mine no fairer people can you see: + Four hundred thousand knights I can array + In combat 'gainst King Carle and 'gainst his Franks."-- + Ganelon says:--"The time has not yet come, + Yea, and great loss your people then will have. + But leave this folly, and to wisdom hold; + Offer the King of treasures such a store + That all the French will marvel at the gift. + For twenty hostages that you will send, + Back to Sweet France will Carle ere long repair. + His rear-guard, notice well, will rest behind: + There will Rolland, his nephew, be, I trow, + With Olivier the brave and courteous knight. + Trust to my counsel and both Counts are doomed, + Nay, Carle shall see his lofty pride cast down + And never more shall covet war with you." + Aoi. + + + XLV. + + [Thus King Marsile] said:--"Fair sire Ganelon, + What means have I to kill the Count Rolland?" + Ganelon answered:--"This can I well say: + The King will reach the wider pass of Sizre + And leave his rear behind, where great Rolland + Eke Olivier, whom both he greatly trusts, + Will be the chiefs of twenty thousand Franks. + On these your hundred thousand Pagans throw, + And let them straightway make an onset fierce: + Stricken and slain shall be the men of France; + I say not that of yours none shall be slain, + But follow up this fight with like attack, + And Count Rolland cannot escape them both, + Then will you deeds of chivalry achieve, + And free your life from war for evermore." + Aoi. + + + XLVI. + + "Who could contrive that there Rolland should die, + Would strike off Carle's right arm. Then on the field + That wond'rous host in death shall lie. No more + Thereafter could King Carle such forces raise, + And the Great Land at last would rest in peace." + Marsile, this hearing, kissed him on the neck, + And then began his treasures to display. + Aoi. + + + XLVII. + + Exclaimed Marsile:--"What further [shall I say?] + No good adviser he of faith unsure. + Swear if Rolland be there that he shall die!" + Thus answered Ganelon:--"Your will be done." + Upon the relics of his sword Murgleis + The treason swore; thus forfeited himself. + Aoi. + + + XLVIII. + + An ivory-faldstool there was set. Marsile + The order gives to bring a book before it, + Mohammed's law and that of Tervagant, + The Spanish Saracen thus took his oath: + "If in the rear-guard Count Rolland be found, + He will attack him there with all his men; + And, if it may be, there Rolland shall die." + Ganelon answers:--"May [our treaty thrive!]" + Aoi. + + + XLIX. + + Behold a Pagan, Valdabrun, who armed + Marsile a Knight; with cheerful smile he said + To Ganelon:--"Take this my sword; no man + E'er drew its peer; the hilt alone is worth + More than a thousand marks.--For love I give it, + But lend us help against the Count Rolland, + And show us how to find him in the rear." + "--So shall it be," replies Count Ganelon; + Whereon they kissed each other's chin and face. + + + L. + + Another Pagan came. 'Twas Climorin + Who gayly smiling, said to Ganelon: + "My helmet take--None better have I seen, + But help us now against _Marchis_ Rolland + That we may throw dishonor on his name." + "--Well shall it be," responded Ganelon, + And then they kissed each other's lips and cheek. + Aoi. + + + LI. + + And now behold, comes Bramimunde the Queen; + "Sire Ganelon," said she, "I love you much, + You, by my sire and all our men esteemed. + Two necklaces unto your wife I send, + With jacinths and with amethysts and gold + Adorned, worth more than all the wealth of Rome; + Jewels so rich your Emp'ror never had." + The Count receives and puts them in his hose. + Aoi. + + + LII. + + The King calls up Malduit, his treasurer: + "Hast thou prepared my gifts for Carle the King?" + Malduit responds:--"Yea sire, the whole are there: + Seven hundred camels with their loads of gold + And silver; then of hostages a score, + The noblest ever lived beneath the stars." + Aoi + + + LIII. + + Marsile took by the shoulder Ganelon + And told him:--"Thou hast wisdom and art brave. + By that great law ye hold the best, beware + Thy heart fails not. Rich treasures will I give + To thee: ten mules laden with purest gold + From Araby; each year shall bring the like. + Meantime of this great city take the keys, + And in my name present this wealth to Carle. + But let Rolland be ordered to the rear. + If in the pass or mount I find the knight, + I swear to give him combat to the death." + Says Ganelon:--"Methinks too long I stay."-- + He mounts his horse and goes upon his way. + Aoi. + + + LIV. + + The Emperor nears his realm, and reaching now + The city of Valterne sacked by Rolland + And left in ruins, which thereafter lay + A hundred years a desert; there he waits + For news of Ganelon, and tribute due + By the great land of Spain. One morning when + The early dawn was brightening into day, + Count Ganelon drew nigh unto the camp. + Aoi. + + + LV. + + In early morn the Emperor arose. + Having attended mass and matins both, + Upon the verdant grass, before his tent + He stood, surrounded by the Count Rolland, + The valorous Olivier, and the Duke Naimes, + With many more besides. There also came + The perjurer, the treacherous Ganelon, + Who, stepping forth, with most perfidious tongue + Began to speak:--"Hail! God save Carle the King!-- + I bring you here the keys of Sarraguce: + Great treasures follow through my care conveyed + With hostages a score. So, guard them well. + The King Marsile the brave bears not the blame + If I bring not the Kalif unto you. + Myself three hundred thousand men in arms + Beheld, with hauberks clad, and helmets clasped, + Swords by their sides, hilts bright with gold inlaid, + Who with him crossed the sea, not to submit + To Christ's law which they will not hold nor keep. + But scarce five leagues had they sailed on the main, + When wind and tempest rising, down they sank. + All perished!... Never shall you see them more. + Had but the Kalif lived, I would have brought + Him hither. For the Pagan King, know well, + Ere you shall see this first month pass away, + Your vassal will he be, with joined hands, + And hold the realm of Spain a fief from you." + Thus said the King:--"Thanks be to God for this! + Well have you done, and great your recompense + Shall be."--He bids a thousand trumpets sound... + The camp is struck:--the Franks then load their mules + And set forth on their journey to Sweet France. + Aoi. + + + + + THE REAR GUARD. + + + ROLLAND DOOMED TO DEATH. + + + LVI. + + King Carle the Great has made a waste of Spain, + The cities violated, the castles seized. + Now saith the King his war is at an end, + And toward Sweet France the Emperor directs + His steed.... The Count Rolland the pennon white + Has planted on a hill, high 'gainst the sky. + In all the country round the Franks their tents + Are pitching, while the Pagans ride along + The mighty vales. In hauberk clad--their backs + In armor cased; with helmets clasped--sword girt + On thigh--shields on their necks--each lance in rest, + Within a thicket on the mount they halt. + Four hundred thousand men there wait the dawn. + The French yet know it not. Ah God! what woe! + Aoi. + + + LVII. + + Passes the day; the shades of night have fallen. + Carle the great Emp'ror sleeps; and in a dream + He marches through the deep defiles of Sizre. + In his right hand his ashen spear he holds, + Which suddenly Count Ganelon has snatched + From him, and shook and brandished in such wise + That, breaking, high tow'rd Heav'n the splinters flew. + Carle sleeps--naught from his slumber can arouse him. + Aoi. + + + LVIII. + + Another vision followed hereupon: + He is in France, in his _Chapelle_, at Aix. + A bear his right arm caught with such sharp fangs + [That from the bone the flesh is torn away.] + From toward Ardennes he saw a leopard come, + Which in his dream, made on him fierce attack; + But then a greyhound dashes from the hall + Unto Carle's rescue, swift of leap and bound; + First from the treach'rous bear the hound tears off + An ear, then with the leopard combat makes. + "See!" cry the French, "what battle fierce is here." + But they know not which of the two will win + The field--Carle still asleep naught can awake. + Aoi. + + + LIX. + + Vanished the night, and the clear dawn appeared. + With noble mien the Emperor mounts his steed, + And 'mid the host one thousand trumpets sound: + "_Barons_," said Carle:--"You see those deep defiles + And narrow passes--judge who in the rear + Will take command." Said Ganelon:--"Rolland, + My step-son, whom among your valiant knights + You prize the most." Carle hearing this, upon + Him sternly looked:--"Thou art the devil's self," + Said he, "or else a mortal rage has stung + Thy heart! Say, who before me in the van + Will march? 'Twill be Ogier de Dannemarche! + You have no better Baron for the post." + Aoi. + + + LX. + + When hears the Count Rolland the lot has fallen + Upon himself, as loyal knight he speaks:-- + "You, sire step-father, dear and well beloved + Must be, since you have named me for the rear; + Nor shall Carl'magne, the King of France, lose aught, + Nor palfrey, nor fleet steed, if knowledge true + I have, nor male nor female mule that man + Can ride, nor beast of burden, horse or ass, + Unreckoned for with these good swords of ours." + Said Ganelon:--"The truth you speak, I know." + Aoi. + + + LXI. + + When hears Rolland the rear shall be his lot, + To his step-father thus in wrath he speaks:-- + "Ah! traitor, evil man of race impure, + Thou thought'st to see me here let fall the glove + As thou erst dropped the staff before the King!" + Aoi. + + + LXII. + + The Count Rolland [addressing thus Carl'magne:] + "Give me the bow that now your hand doth hold, + For, to my knowledge, none will e'er throw blame + On me for dropping it, as fell on earth + Your right hand glove, when he received the staff." + With head declined the Emperor remains: + Oft plucks and twists the beard on lip and cheek, + Nor can his eyes restrain their falling tears. + Aoi. + + + LXIII. + + Naimes after came--no better ever was + A vassal in the court. He said to Carle: + "You hear him; greatly wroth is Count Rolland; + The rear guard is assigned to his command; + No baron have you that with him would make + Exchange. Give him the bow and your hand has bent, + And look for those who best may lend him help." + Carle gives the bow which Count Rolland receives. + Aoi. + + + LXIV. + + The Emperor calls to Rolland and says:-- + "Fair sire, my nephew, truly you must know + Half of my army will I leave with you; + Keep them; in their good help your safety lies." + Then said the Count:--"Of this will I do naught! + May God confound me, ere my race I shame; + But twenty thousand valiant knights I keep! + Through the defiles you can in safety pass + And fear no harm from man while yet I live." + Aoi. + + + LXV. + + Rolland sits on his steed, and nigh him rides + His comrade Olivier. There came Gerin, + Gerier the brave, Othon and Berengier; + There came Sansun, Anseis the fierce; there came + Also Gerard de Roussillon the old, + Together with the _Gascuin_ Engelier. + The Archbishop said:--"I, by my head, will go!" + "--And I with you," exclaimed the Count Gualtier; + "Rolland's own man am I, and follow him!" + From all are chosen twenty thousand knights. + Aoi. + + + LXVI. + + The Count Rolland calls up Gualtier de l'Hum: + "One thousand Franks of France, our land, array, + And with them cover heights and passes, that + The Emperor may lose none of his host." + Responds Gualtier:--"This am I bound to do + For you."--Forthwith one thousand Franks of France + O'errun each height and pass.--None shall descend + Despite ill news, ere seven hundred swords + Unsheathe. That very day King Almaris + Who rules Belferne, met them with battle fierce. + Aoi. + + + LXVII. + + High are the mounts, the valleys murky-dark-- + The rocks are black, the gorges terrible. + The French toiled through them painfully; their march + Was heard for fifteen leagues; then the Great land + Reaching, they viewed Gascuigne, their lord's estate, + And sweet remembrance felt of honors, fiefs, + Of lovely maidens and of noble wives: + Not one is there but weeps from tenderness; + But more than all is Carle distressed; he mourns + His nephew left in the defiles of Spain.... + By pity moved he cannot choose but weep. + Aoi. + + + LXVIII. + + The twelve Peers staid in Spain. A thousand score + Of Franks are under their command, to whom + Unknown is wavering fear or dread of death. + Carl'magne to France returns--within his cloak + He hides his face--Naimes, riding near, inquired: + "What thought, O King, weighs now upon your heart?"-- + "Who questions me doth wrong. So sad am I + I can but mourn. Sweet France by Ganelon + Shall be destroyed. An angel in my sleep + Appeared, and, dreaming, I beheld my lance + Broken up within my hand by him who named + My nephew for the rear guard ... and I left + Him in a foreign land;--O mighty God, + Should I lose him, I ne'er should find his peer!" + Aoi. + + + LXIX. + + Carle the great King, no more restrains his tears: + One hundred thousand Franks great sympathy + Give him, with strangest fear for Count Rolland. + Vile Ganelon, the wretch, this treason wrought! + He, from the Pagan King received rich gifts + Of gold and silver, silk and ciclatons, + Lions and camels, horses, mules. Behold, + King Marsile summons all his Counts from Spain, + His Viscounts, Dukes and Almazours; with these + The Emirs, and the sons of noble Counts; + Four hundred thousand gathered in three days, + In Sarraguce are beaten all the drums; + Mohammed's image to the loftiest tower + Is raised on high.--No Pagan but adores + And prays before him.--They then madly ride + Throughout the land, o'er mountain and o'er vale. + At last they see the gonfalons of France; + It is the rear-guard of the twelve compeers: + Nor will they fail to give them battle now. + Aoi. + + + LXX. + + Hastes to the front the nephew of Marsile, + Goading the mule that bears him, with a staff. + Says to his uncle, gayly laughing loud: + "Fair King, till now I served you well; for you + Endured hard pain and grief.--The only fee + I ask is this:--To strike Rolland! I swear + To give him death with my good trenchant sword, + And if his help Mohammed will bestow, + On me, forever shall all Spain be free, + From the defiles of Aspre to Durestant. + Carle then will yield,--the Franks, surrender all; + No more in all your life will you have war." + The King Marsile bestows on him the glove. + Aoi. + + + LXXI. + + The nephew of Marsile holds in his grasp + The glove, and to the King with haughty pride + Speaks:--"Fair Sire King, your gift I dearly prize; + Choose you for me eleven of your Knights, + And I will go and combat the twelve Peers." + The first response was that of Falsaun: + He was the brother of the King Marsile.-- + "Fair nephew, we shall go, both you and I; + In battle side by side, we shall engage. + The rear of Carle's great host is doomed to die!" + Aoi. + + + + LXXII. + + King Corsalis stands on the other side; + He comes from Barbary; a soul of guile. + Still speaks he there not unlike vassal true + Who would not for the gold of heav'n be base: + "If there I find Rolland, we meet in fight. + I am the third; now choose ye out the fourth." + See you the spurring Malprimis de Brigal, + Faster on foot than runs the fastest steed? + Before Marsile in a loud voice he cries: + "I shall my body take to Ronceval; + If there I find Rolland, by me he dies." + Aoi. + + + LXXIII. + + An Emir now is there, from Balaguer. + Of handsome form, with proud and cheerful face, + When on his steed he vaults, well doth he show + With what great pride his armor's mail is borne. + For truest vassalage he is renowned; + Were he but Christian, 'twere a baron true. + Before Marsile he stands and loudly cries: + "My body I will take to Ronceval; + If there I face Rolland his doom is sure, + Eke Olivier and the twelve peers, all die. + The Franks shall perish in despair and shame. + Carl'magne is old and dotes. O'erwhelmed, at last + He will give up this waging war, and Spain + Forever shall be kept beneath our sway." + The King Marsile on him bestows great thanks. + Aoi. + + + LXXIV. + + Then from the Moorish land an Almazour + Steps forth. All Spain can show no greater wretch. + Before Marsile he makes a boastful vaunt: + "To Ronceval will I my people lead-- + Full twenty thousand men with lance and shield. + If I Rolland find there, I pledge his death; + No after-day shall dawn but Carle shall weep." + Aoi. + + + LXXV. + + From elsewhere comes Turgis de Turteluse. + He is a count, and o'er this city wields + His sway; hate unto Christians has he vowed, + And stands with all the rest before Marsile. + He thus addressed the king: "Ne'er be dismayed! + More worth Mohammed than Saint Pierre of Rome; + But serve him well, the honor of the field + [Is ours]. I'll meet Rolland at Ronceval + Where none can guard him. Mark this sword of mine; + Its blade, so good and long, in desperate fight + Will cross with Durendal; and you will hear + Which of the two shall win the victory. + Abandoned unto us the French must die. + The old King Carle will have both grief and shame, + And never more on earth will wear a crown." + Aoi. + + + LXXVI. + + Comes up besides Escremiz de Valterne, + A Saracen, and of that country lord. + Before Marsile among the throng he cries: + "To Ronceval I go, to crush the proud; + Nor shall Rolland, if there, bear off his head, + Nor Olivier, chief of the other knights; + The twelve peers, all are doomed to perish there. + The French shall die, and France become a waste. + Of such good vassals Carle will see the loss." + Aoi. + + + LXXVII. + + And came with Esturgant, Estramaris, + His friend; both wretches, traitors, villains are.... + Thus spake Marsile: "Come forth, Seigneurs; ye both + To Ronceval's defiles shall go and help + Me there to lead my host." Both answer: "King, + At your command, Rolland and Olivier + Will we assault. No power can the twelve peers + From death defend against our trenchant swords + Whose blades shall redden with hot blood. The French + Are doomed to death and Carle to doleful life. + France, the Great Land, shall through our arms become + Your realm. Come, King, to see this verified; + The Emperor's self a captive we'll present." + Aoi. + + + LXXVIII. + + There hastens Margariz de Sibilie + Who holds the country toward the distant sea. + His beauty such, all ladies are his friends; + Not one looks on him but to smile, nor can + Restrain her laughing joy. No Pagan else + More glorious deeds of chivalry achieved; + Pressed through the crowd, he cries above the rest + Unto the king: "Be not dismayed, for I + To Ronceval will go to kill Rolland, + And Olivier shall not escape alive; + To martyrdom the twelve Peers are condemned. + See my good sword with gold-embossed hilt, + Given me by the _Amiralz_ of Prime; + I pledge my faith it will be dyed in blood. + The French shall perish, France be steeped in shame, + And Carle the old, with beard all blossom-white, + Shall see no day uncursed by grief and wrath. + Before one year we shall have conquered France + And slept beneath the roofs of Saint-Denis." + At this, the Pagan king bowed low his head. + Aoi. + + + LXXIX. + + Next you can see Chernubles de [Val-neire]. + His hair so long, it sweeps the earth, and he + Can, for his sport, lift greater weight than bear + Four hundred loaded mules.--In his [far-land] + They say--the sun ne'er shines, corn cannot grow, + The rain falls not, the dew wets not the soil; + No stone there but is black, and it is said + By some that in that land the demons dwell. + Thus said Chernubles:--"My sword hangs at my belt; + At Ronceval I will dye it crimson! should + I find Rolland the brave upon my path, + Nor strike him down, then trust to me no more; + This my good sword shall conquer Durendal, + The French shall die, and France must be destroyed." + At these words, rally King Marsile's twelve Peers, + And lead one hundred thousand Saracens + Who for the battle hasten and prepare, + Arming themselves beneath a grove of pines. + Aoi. + + + LXXX. + + The Pagans put their Moorish hauberks on; + The greater part are triply lined; they lace + Their helms of Sarraguce, gird to their thighs + Swords of Vienna steel; bright are their shields; + Their lances from Valence; their banners white + And blue and crimson. Mules and sumpter-beasts + Are left behind. They mount their battle steeds, + And forward press in closely serried lines. + Clear was the day, and brilliant was the sun; + No armor but reflected back the light. + A thousand clarions sound their cheering blasts + So loud, the French can hear--. Says Olivier: + "Rolland, companion, hearken! Soon, methinks, + We shall have battle with the Saracens!" + To which Rolland: "God grant it may be so. + Here must we do our duty to our King; + A man should for his Lord and for his cause + Distress endure, and bear great heat and cold, + Lose all, even to his very hair and skin! + 'Tis each man's part to strike with mighty blows, + That evil songs of us may ne'er be sung. + The wrong cause have the Pagans, we the right. + No ill example e'er shall come from me." + Aoi. + + + + + PRELUDE TO THE GREAT BATTLE. + + + LXXXI. + + Olivier from the summit of a hill + On his right hand looks o'er a grassy vale, + And views the Pagans' onward marching hordes; + Then straight he called his faithful friend Rolland: + "From Spain a distant rumbling noise I hear, + So many hauberks white and flashing helms + I see!--This will inflame our French men's hearts. + The treason is the work of Ganelon + Who named us for this post before the King." + "Hush! Olivier!"--the Count Rolland replies, + "'Tis my step-father, speak no other word." + Aoi. + + + LXXXII. + + Count Olivier is posted on a hill + From whence Spain's Kingdom he descries, and all + The swarming host of Saracens; their helms + So bright bedecked with gold, and their great shields, + Their 'broidered hauberks, and their waving flags, + He cannot count the squadrons; in such crowds + They come, his sight reached not unto their end. + Then all bewildered he descends the hill, + Rejoins the French, and all to them relates. + Aoi. + + + LXXXIII. + + Said Olivier: "I have seen Pagans more + Than eyes e'er saw upon the earth; at least + One hundred thousand warriors armed with shields, + In their white hauberks clad, with helmets laced, + Lances in rest, and burnished brazen spears. + Battle ye will have, such as ne'er was before. + French Lords, may God inspire you with his strength! + Stand firm your ground, that we may not succumb." + The French say: "Cursed be those who fly the field! + Ready to die, not one shall fail you here." + Aoi. + + + + + ROLAND'S PRIDE. + + + LXXXIV. + + Olivier said: "So strong the Pagan host; + Our French, methinks, in number are too few; + Companion Rolland, sound your horn, that Carle + May hear and send his army back to help." + Rolland replies:--"Great folly would be mine, + And all my glory in sweet France be lost. + No, I shall strike great blows with Durendal; + To the golden hilt the blade shall reek with blood. + In evil hour the felon Pagans came + Unto the Pass, for all are doomed to die!" + Aoi. + + + LXXXV. + + "Rolland, companion, sound your olifant, + That Carle may hear and soon bring back the host. + With all his Baronage the king will give + Us held!"--Replied Rolland:--"May God fore-fend + That for my cause my kindred e'er be blamed, + Or that dishonor fall upon sweet France. + Nay, I will deal hard blows with Durendal, + This my good sword now girt unto my side + Whose blade you'll see all reeking with red blood. + Those felon Pagans have for their ill fate + Together met--yea, death awaits them all." + Aoi. + + + LXXXVI. + + "Companion Rolland, sound your olifant! + If Carle who passes through the mounts shall hear, + To you I pledge my word, the French return." + Answered Rolland:--"May God forbid!--Ne'er be + It said by living man that Pagans could + Cause me to blow my horn, to bring disgrace + Upon my kin!--When on the battle field, + I'll strike one thousand seven hundred blows, + And Durendal all bleeding shall you see. + [The French are brave and bravely will they strike.] + Those Spanish Moors are doomed to certain death." + Aoi. + + + LXXXVII. + + Olivier said:--"To me there seems no shame; + I have beheld the Moors of Spain; they swarm + O'er mountains, vales and lands, hide all the plains; + Great is this stranger host; our number small." + Rolland replies:--"The more my ardor grows. + God and his [blessed] angels grant that France + Lose naught of her renown through my default. + Better to die than in dishonor [live.] + The more we strike the more Carle's love we gain!" + Aoi. + + + LXXXVIII. + + Rolland is brave and Olivier is wise; + Both knights of wond'rous courage--and in arms + And mounted on their steeds, they both will die + Ere they will shun the fight. Good are the Counts + And proud their words.--The Pagan felons ride + In fury on!--"Rolland," said Olivier, + "One moment, look! Our foes so close, and Carle + Afar from us--you have not deigned to blow + Your horn! If came the king, no hurt were ours. + Cast your eyes toward the great defiles of Aspre; + There see this most unhappy rear-guard. [Those + Who here fight, ne'er shall fight on other fields."] + Rolland retorts:--"Speak not such shameful words. + Woe unto him who bears a coward's heart + Within his breast. There firm shall we remain; + The combat and the blows from us shall come." + Aoi. + + + LXXXIX. + + Now when Rolland the battle sees at hand, + More than a leopard's or a lion's pride + He shows. He calls the French and Olivier: + "Companion, friend, pray, speak of this no more. + The Emperor who left his French in trust + To us, has chos'n those twenty thousand men. + Right well he knows none has a coward's soul. + A man should suffer hurt for his good lord, + Endure great cold or scorching heat, and give + Even to his flesh and blood--Strike with your lance, + And I with Durendal, my trusty sword, + Carle's gift. If here I die, may he who wins + It, say:--'Twas once the sword of a brave knight." + Aoi. + + XC. + + Turpin the Archbishop from another side, + Spurring his courser, mounts a hill and calls + The French around. This sermon to them speaks: + "_Seigneurs Barons_, Carle left us here: for him, + Our King, our duty is to die, to aid + In saving Christendom, the Faith of Christ + Uphold. There, battle will ye have, for there + Before your eyes behold the Saracens. + Confess your sins, and for God's mercy pray! + For your soul's cure I absolution give.... + If you should die, as holy martyrs ye + Will fall, and places find in Paradise!" + The French alight and fall upon their knees; + The Godly Archbishop grants them benison, + Giving for penance his command to strike. + Aoi. + + + XCI. + + The French arise. They stand assoiled and quit + Of all sins, blessed by Turpin in God's name. + On swift destriers they mount, armed cap-a-pie + As Knights arrayed for battle. Count Rolland + Calls Olivier:--"Companion, sire, full well + You know, it is Count Ganelon who has + Betrayed us all, and guerdon rich received + In gold and silver; well the Emp'ror should + Avenge us! King Marsile a bargain made + Of us, but swords will make the reck'ning good." + Aoi. + + + XCII. + + Through the defiles of Spain hath passed Rolland + Mounted on Veillantif, his charger swift + And strong, bearing his bright and glitt'ring arms. + On goes the brave Rolland, his lance borne up + Skyward, beneath its point a pennon bound, + Snow-white, whose fringes flap his hand. + Fair is his form, his visage bright with smiles. + Behind him follows Olivier his friend; + The French with joy, him as their champion, hail. + He on the Heathens throws a haughty glance, + But casts a sweet and humble look upon + His French, and to them speaks with courteous tone: + "_Seigneurs Barons_, march steadily and close. + These Pagans hither came to find a grave; + We here shall conquer such great spoil to-day + As never yet was gained by Kings of France." + Even as he spoke the word, the armies met. + Aoi. + + + XCIII. + + Said Olivier:--"No care have I to speak, + Since you deigned not to blow your olifant, + All hope of help from Carle for you is lost. + He knows no word of this; the fault lies not + In him, nor are yon Knights to blame--ride on + And gallop to the charge as best you can. + _Seigneurs Barons_, recoil not from the foe, + In God's name! bearing ever this in mind, + Hard blows to deal and hard blows to endure + Forget we not the war-cry of King Carle!" + At this word all the French together shout. + Who then had heard the cry, "Montjoie!" had known + What courage is. Then all together rush + Right onward; God! with what an onset fierce! + Deeply they spur their steeds for greater speed; + They burn to fight. What else can they desire? + The Saracens stand firm and nothing fear.... + Behold the Franks and Pagans hand to hand.... + Aoi. + + + + + THE MELEE. + + + XCIV. + + The nephew of Marsile--his name Aelroth, + Forward the first of all spurs on his horse + Against our French, hurling forth insulting words: + "To-day, French villains, ye will joust with us; + Who was to guard you, has betrayed you; mad + Must be the King who left you in the pass. + So now the honor of sweet France is lost, + And Carle the great shall lose his right arm here." + Rolland heard.--God! what pain to him! He drives + His golden spurs into his courser's flanks, + And rushes at full speed against Aelroth; + His shield he breaks, dismails the hauberk linked; + Cleaving his breast, he severs all the bones, + And from the spine the ribs disjoint. The lance + Forth from his body thrusts the Pagan's soul; + The Heathen's corse reels from his horse, falls down + Upon the earth, the neck cloven in two halves. + Rolland still taunts him:--"Go thou, wretch, and know + Carle was not mad. Ne'er did he treason love, + And he did well to leave us in the pass. + To-day sweet France will not her honor lose! + Strike, Frenchmen, strike; the first sword-stroke is ours; + We have the right, these gluttons have the wrong!" + Aoi. + + + XCV. + + Then comes a Duke whose name is Falsarun; + He is the brother of the King Marsile. + The lands of Dathan and of Abirun + He holds: no viler wretch lives under Heaven. + Vast is his forehead, and the space between + His deeply sunken eyes is half a foot. + Seeing his nephew dead, in grief he bounds + Forth from the serried ranks, and shouts aloud + The Pagan war-cry, furious 'gainst the French. + "To-day," he cries, "at last sweet France shall lose + Her fame!"--When Olivier heard this, in wrath + He pricks with golden spurs his charger's flanks, + And, like true baron, lifts his arm to strike, + Shivers the Pagan's shield, his hauberk tears + Apart. The pennon's folds pass through his breast + As with the shaft he hurls him from the selle, + A mangled corpse;--here lies he on the ground. + Unto the prostrate body Olivier + Says proudly:--"Wretch, to me thy threats are vain! + Strike boldly, Franks! The victory shall be ours! + Montjoie!" he shouts, the battle-cry of Carle. + Aoi. + + + XCVI. + + A king, named Corsablis, from Barbarie, + A distant land, is there.--The Pagan host + He calls;--"The field is ours with ease: the French + So few in numbers we may well disdain, + Nor Carle shall rescue one; all perish here. + To-day, they all are doomed to death!" Turpin + The Archbishop heard him; lived no man on earth + He hated more than Corsablis; he pricks + His horse with both his spurs of purest gold, + And 'gainst him rushes with tremendous force. + The shield and hauberk split; and with a stroke + Of the long lance into his body driven, + Corsablis lifeless drops across the path; + Him, though a corpse, Turpin addresses thus: + "Thou, coward Pagan, thou hast lied! Great Carl + My lord, was ever and will ever be + Our help; and Frenchmen know not how to fly. + As for thy fellows, we can keep them here; + I tell you, each this day shall die.--Strike, Franks, + Yourselves forget not. This first blow, thank God, + Is ours! Montjoie!" cries he, to hold the field. + Aoi. + + + XCVII. + + Gerin attacks Malprimis de Brigal + Whose good shield now was not a denier worth: + The crystal boss all broken, and one half + Fall'n on the ground. Down to the flesh Gerin + His hauberk cleaves, and passes through his heart + The brazen point of a stout lance. Then falls + The Pagan chief and dies by that good blow; + And Sathanas bears off the wretched soul. + Aoi. + + + XCVIII. + + Gerier, his comrade, strikes the Amurafle, + Breaks his good shield, his hauberk white unmails, + Plants in his heart a spear's steel point with such + Good aim, one blow has pierced the body through; + And his strong lance-thrust hurls him dead to earth.-- + Said Olivier: "A noble combat ours!" + Aoi. + + + XCIX. + + Duke Sansun rushes on the Almazour; + He splits the shield with painted flowers and gold + Embossed. The strong-mailed hauberk shelters not, + As he is pierced through liver, heart and lungs. + For him may mourn who will--death-struck he falls: + "That is a Baron's stroke!" the Archbishop cries. + Aoi. + + + C. + + Anseis gives his steed the rein, and charges + Fierce on Turgis de Turteluse; beneath + The golden boss asunder breaks the shield, + Rips up the hauberk double-linked; so true + The thrust, that all the steel passed through his breast. + With this one blow the shaft has struck him dead. + Rolland exclaimed: "The stroke is of a Knight!" + Aoi. + + + CI. + + Then Engelier, the Gascuin of Burdele, + Spurs deep his horse, and casting loose the rein, + Rushes upon Escremiz de Valterne; + Breaks down the buckler fastened to his throat + And rends his gorget-mail; full in the breast + The lance strikes deep and passes in between + The collar bones; dead from the saddle struck + He falls.--And Turpin says: "Ye all are lost!" + Aoi. + + + CII. + + Othon assails a Pagan, Estorgant, + His thrust hits hard the leather of the shield, + Effacing its bright colors red and white, + Breaks in his hauberk's sides, and plunges deep + Within his heart a strong and trenchant spear, + From off the flying steed striking him dead. + This done, he says:--"No hope for you remains!" + Aoi. + + + CIII. + + And Berengier smites now Estramaris, + Splits down his shield, shivers his coat of mail + In shreds and through his bosom drives a lance. + Dead 'midst one thousand Saracens he drops. + Of their twelve Peers now ten have breathed their last: + Chernuble--Margariz, the Count, survive. + Aoi. + + + CIV. + + Most valiant Knight is Margariz. 'Mid all + Beauteous, strong, slender, quick of hand. He spurs + His horse and charges Olivier; beneath + The boss of purest gold his shield breaks down, + Then at his side a pointed lance he aims; + But God protects him, for the blow ne'er reached + The flesh. The point grazed only, wounding not. + Then Margariz unhindered rides away + And sounds his horn to rally his own men. + Aoi. + + + CV. + + The battle rages fierce. All men engage. + Rolland, the dauntless, combats with his lance + As long as holds the shaft. Fifteen good blows + It dealt, then broke and fell; now his good sword, + Loved Durendal, he draws, spurs on his steed + 'Gainst Chernubles, splits his bright helm adorned + With gems; one blow cleaves through mail-cap and skull, + Cutting both eyes and visage in two parts, + And the white hauberk with its close-linked mail; + Down to the body's fork, the saddle all + Of beaten gold, still deeper goes the sword, + Cuts through the courser's chine, nor seeks the joint. + Upon the verdant grass fall dead both knight + And steed. And then he cries: "Wretch! ill inspired + To venture here! Mohammed helped thee not.... + Wretches like you this battle shall not win." + Aoi. + + + CVI. + + The Count Rolland rides through the battle-field + And makes, with Durendal's keen blade in hand, + A mighty carnage of the Saracens. + Ah! had you then beheld the valiant Knight + Heap corse on corse; blood drenching all the ground; + His own arms, hauberk, all besmeared with gore, + And his good steed from neck to shoulder bleed! + Still Olivier halts not in his career. + Of the twelve Peers not one deserves reproach, + And all the French strike well and massacre + The foe. The Pagans dead or dying fall. + Cries the Archbishop: "Well done, Knights of France! + Montjoie! Montjoie! It is Carle's battle cry!" + Aoi. + + + CVII. + + Olivier grasps the truncheon of his lance, + Spurs through the storm and fury of the fight, + And rushes on the Pagan Malsarun, + Breaks down his shield with flowers and gold embossed, + Thrusts from their orbs his eyes; his brains dashed out + Are crushed and trampled 'neath the victor's feet; + With seven hundred men of theirs he fell. + The Count next slew Turgis and Estorgus; + But now the shaft breaks short off by his hand. + Then said Rolland: "What mean you, _Compagnon_? + In such a fight as this 'tis not a staff + We need, but steel and iron, as I deem. + Where now that sword called Halteclere, with hilt + Of gold and crystal pommel?" "I lack time + To draw it," valiant Olivier replies, + "So busy is my hand in dealing blows!" + Aoi. + + + CVIII. + + Lord Olivier then his good sword unsheathed, + For which Rolland entreated him so much, + And showed it to his friend with knightly pride; + Strikes down a Pagan, Justin de Val-Ferree, + Whose head is severed by the blow; cuts through + Th' embroider'd hauberk, through the body, through + The saddle all with studs and gold embossed, + And through the back-bone of the steed. Both man + And steed fall on the grass before him, dead. + Rolland exclaims: "Henceforth, you are indeed + My brother! These, the strokes loved by King Carle!" + And echoes round the cry: "Montjoie! Montjoie!" + Aoi. + + + CIX. + + The Count Gerin sits on his horse, Sorel, + And his companion Gerier, on Passe-Cerf, + They loose the reins, and both spur on against + A Pagan, Timozel. One strikes the shield, + The other strikes the hauberk;--in his heart + The two spears meet and hurl him lifeless down. + I never heard it said nor can I know + By which of them the swifter blow was struck.-- + Esperveris, son to Borel, was next + By Engelier de Burdele slain. Turpin + With his own hand gave death to Siglorel + Th' Enchanter who once entered hell, led there + By Jupiter's craft. Turpin said:--"Forfeit paid + For crime!"--"The wretch is vanquished," cried Rolland, + "My brother Olivier, such blows I love!" + Aoi. + + + CX. + + The combat paused not. Franks and Pagans vie + In dealing blows; attacking now, and now + Defending. Splintered spears, dripping with blood + So many; o'er the field such numbers strewn: + Of banners torn and shattered gonfalons! + So many valiant French mowed in their prime, + Whom mothers and sweet wives will never see + Again, nor those of France who in the Pass + Await them! Carle for these shall weep and mourn. + But what avails? Naught can he help them now. + Ill service rendered Ganelon to them + The day when he to Sarraguce repaired + To sell his kin. Ere long for this he lost + Both limb and life, judged and condemned at Aix, + There to be hanged with thirty of his race + Who were not spared the punishment of death. + Aoi. + + + CXI. + + The battle rages. Wonders all perform; + Rolland and Olivier strike hard; Turpin + Th' Archbishop, deals more than a thousand blows; + The twelve Peers dally not upon the field, + While all the French together fight as if + One man. By hundreds and by thousands fall + The Pagans: none scapes death, save those who fly + Whether they will or no, all lose their lives. + And yet the French have lost their strongest arms, + Their fathers and their kin they will ne'er see + Again, nor Carle who waits them in the Pass. + + * * * * * + + Meantime in France an awful scourge prevails: + Wind, storm, rain, hail and flashing lightning bolts + Conflict confusedly, and naught more true, + The earth shook from Saint Michiel-del-Peril + As far as to the Saints, from Besancon + Unto the [sea-port] of Guitzand; no house + Whose walls unshaken stood; darkness at noon + Shrouded the sky. No beam of light above + Save when a flash rips up the clouds. Dismayed + Beholders cry:--"The world's last day has come, + The destined end of all things is at hand!" + Unwitting of the truth, their speech is vain.... + 'Tis dolour for the death of Count Rolland! + Aoi. + + + CXII. + + The French [strike] hard; they strike with all their force. + In multitudes--by thousands die their foes; + Not two out of one hundred thousand now + Survive. [Turpin] says:--"Brave are all our men;-- + None braver under Heaven--In the Geste + Of France 'tis writ true vassals have our Kings." + Seeking their friends, they overrun the field. + Their eyes are filled with tenderness and tears + For their dear kindred they so fondly loved.... + Now King Marsile with his great host appears.... + Aoi. + + + CXIII. + + Marsile advances 'midst a valley deep, + Surrounded by the mighty host he brought, + In twenty squadrons mustered and arrayed. + Bright shine the helmets strewn with gold and gems, + And shields and hauberks graved. They sound a charge + With seven hundred clarions sending forth + Loud blasts throughout the land--Thus said Rolland: + "Companion Olivier, my brother, friend, + The traitor, Ganelon, has sworn our death.... + His treason is too sure; the Emp'ror Carle + For this vile crime will take a vengeance deep. + A long and cruel battle we shall have, + Ere this unknown to man. There, I will fight + With my good Durendal; you, friend, will strike + With Halteclere--Those noble swords we bore + Throughout so many lands; such combats won + By them, vile strains must never chant their deeds." + Aoi. + + + CXIV. + + When the French see the Pagan cohorts swarm + The country o'er, they call on Olivier, + Rolland and the twelve Peers to guard their lives. + Unto them now the Archbishop speaks his mind: + "Barons, be not unworthy of yourselves! + Fly not the field, for God's sake, that brave men + Sing not ill songs of you! Far better die + In battle. Doomed, I know, we are to death, + And ere this day has passed, our lives are o'er. + But for one thing ye can believe my word: + For you God's Paradise stands open wide, + And seats await you 'mid the blessed Saints." + These words of comfort reassure the French; + All in one voice cry out:--"Montjoie! Montjoie!" + Aoi. + + + CXV. + + There was a Saracen from Sarraguce + Lord of one half the city--Climorin, + Unlike a Baron; he received the faith + Of Ganelon, and sealed the treacherous bond + By pressing on his lip a kiss--Besides + Unto him gave his sword and carbuncle. + "I will," said he, "put your great France to shame + And from the Emperor's head shake off the crown!" + Mounted on Barbamouche that faster flies + Than hawk or swallow on the wing, he spurs + His courser hard, and dropping on its neck + The rein, he strikes Engelier de Gascuigne; + Hauberk nor shield is for him a defense: + Deep in the core the Pagan thrusts his spear + So mightily, its point comes out behind, + And with the shaft o'erturns him on the field + A corse;--he cries. "Fit for destruction these! + Strike, Pagans, strike, and let us break their lines!" + The French cry: "God! to lose so brave a Knight!".... + Aoi. + + + CXVI. + + The Count Rolland calls Olivier: "You know, + Companion, sire, Engelier is no more.... + No better Knight had we"--The Count replies: + "God grant that I avenge him well!" He drives + His golden spurs into his charger's flanks; + And waving Halteclere's blood dripping blade, + The Pagan he assails, and deals a blow.... + O'erthrown is Climorin. The fiends of hell + Bear off his soul. The Knight then slays the Duke + Alphaien, beheads Escababi, + Unhorses seven Arabs with such skill + They rise no more to fight. Then said Rolland: + "Wroth is my sire, and by my side achieves + Renown! by such good blows Carl's love is gained. + Strike, Chevaliers! strike on!"--he cries aloud. + Aoi. + + + CXVII. + + From otherwhere is Valdabrun who armed + Marsile a Knight; lord of four hundred ships. + There is no sailor but swears by his name; + 'Twas he by treason took Jerusalem, + Who there the shrine of Solomon profaned, + And slew before the Fonts the Patriarch; + 'Twas he, received Count Ganelon's vile oath + And gave him with his sword a thousand marks; + Faster than falcon in its flight his steed + Named Graminond. He sharply spurs his flanks + And rushes 'gainst the mighty Duke Sansun, + Breaks down his shield--the hauberk rends, and thrusts + Within his breast the pennon of the flag; + The shaft o'erthrows him from the saddle, dead. + "Strike Pagans! strike, for we shall conquer them!" + The French say:--"God! what Baron true we lose!" + Aoi. + + + CXVIII. + + When Count Rolland sees Sansun lifeless fall, + You may well know what grief was his. He spurs + His horse down on the Pagan. Durendal + More worth than precious gold he lifts to strike + With all his might; gold studded helm, head, trunk, + Hauberk asunder cleaves; the blow, e'en through + The gold boss'd saddle, strikes the courser's back, + Killing both horse and man. Blame or approve + Who may. The Pagans say:--"Hard is this blow!" + Retorts Rolland:--"For yours no pity can + I feel--With you the vaunting and the wrong!" + Aoi. + + + CXIX. + + An African fresh from the desert land + Was there, Malquidant, son of king Malcud; + His armor highly wrought in beaten gold + Outshines all others in the sun's bright rays. + Mounted upon his horse named Salt-Perdut, + He aims a blow at Anseis' shield, and cuts + The azure and vermillion all away. + His hauberk rives asunder, side from side, + And through his body pass both point and shaft. + The Count is dead.--His last breath spent and flown. + The French say:--"Baron, such great woe for you!" + Aoi. + + + CXX. + + The Archbishop Turpin rides across the fields; + No shaven priest sang ever mass so well + As he, and showed such prowess in his deeds. + He to the Pagan:--"May God send all ills + To thee, who slew the knight my heart bewails!" + Turpin spurs hard his good steed 'gainst the wretch; + One blow strikes down his strong Toledo shield: + The miscreant dead upon the green sward falls. + Aoi. + + + CXXI. + + Elsewhere stands Grandomie who is the son + Of Capuel king of Cappadoce. He sits + A steed named Marmorie, than flying bird + More swift. Loosening the rein, and spurring deep, + To smite Gerin with all his force he rides; + Torn from the neck which bears it, shattered falls + The purple shield, through the rent mail he drives + The whole blue pennon in his breast. Gerin + Drops lifeless by this blow, against a rock. + The Pagan also slays Gerier, his friend, + And Berengier, and Gui de Saint-Antoine; + Assailing then the noble Duke Austoire + Who holds Valence and fiefs along the Rosne, + He strikes him dead. The Saracens extol + Their triumph, but how many fall of ours! + Aoi. + + + CXXII. + + Hearing the Frenchmen's sobs, the Count Rolland + Grasps in his hand his sword, all reeking blood. + His mighty heart nigh breaking with his grief, + Cries to the foe:--"May God all evils send + On thee! him hast thou slain for whom thou shalt + Most dearly pay!--" He spurs his flying steed.... + Conquer who may--these two fight hand to hand. + Aoi. + + + CXXIII. + + A wise and valiant knight was Grandonie, + Virtuous and fearless vassal. 'Mid his way + Encountering Count Rolland, though never seen + Before, at once he knew 'twas he, as well + By his proud mien and noble beauty, as + By his fair countenance and lofty look. + Awe-struck, despite himself, he vainly tries + To fly, but rooted to the spot he stays. + The Count Rolland smites him so skillfully, + He splits in two the nazal, helm, nose, mouth, + And teeth, the body and mailed-armor, then + Hews through the golden selle, both silver-flaps; + With a still deeper stroke the courser's back + Is gashed. So both are slain past remedy. + The men of Spain cry out all sorrowful; + But say the French:--"Well our defender strikes." + Aoi. + + + CXXIV. + + Marv'lous the battle, and the tumult fierce; + The French of strength and fury full, raise high + Their swords: backs, ribs and wrists are slashed; the flesh + Cut through rent garments to the quick; along + The verdant soil the red blood runs in streams. + The Pagans cry:--"We cannot more endure! + Great land, Mohammed curse thee!--More than all + This people bold."--Not one who does not cry + "Marsile! ride on, O King, thy aid we need!" + Aoi. + + + CXXV. + + A battle fierce and wonderful!--Hard strike + The French with glittering lance, and there you might + Have seen what miseries man can suffer: Mowed + And heaped in bloody mounds, all gasping out + Their lives, some on their backs, some on their teeth-- + The Saracens give way, willing or not; + By the French lances forced, they fly the field. + Aoi. + + + CXXVI. + + Marsile his warriors massacred beholds, + And, bidding all his horns and trumpets blow, + Rides forward, and his whole van rides with him. + In the van rode a Saracen, Abisme, + The vilest wretch among his men, sunk deep + In crimes and shame, who has no faith in God, + Sainte Marie's son; as black as melted pitch + His face; more fond of blood and treason foul + Than of the gold of all Galice. None saw + Him laugh or play; for courage and rash deeds + He pleased the vile Marsile whose dragon flag + He bears. No pity can the Archbishop feel + For him, and at his sight he craves to try + His arm, all softly saying to himself: + "This Saracen is but a heretic; + Far better die than not to give him death. + Ne'er cowardice nor coward I endured!" + Aoi. + + + CXXVII. + + The Archbishop gives the signal for the fight; + He rides the horse he captured from Grossaille, + A King he slew among the Danes: a horse + Of wondrous fleetness, light-hoofed, slender-limbed; + Thigh short; with broad and mighty haunch; the flanks + Are long, and very high his spine; pure white + His tail, and yellow is his mane--his ears + Are small--light brown his head. This paragon + Of all the beasts of earth has not his peer. + The Archbishop, baron-like, spurs on the horse, + Full bent upon the encounter with Abisme; + He gains his side and hard he strikes his shield + Glittering with gems, topaz and amethyst, + Crystals and carbuncles, which to him gave + The Emir Galafes--a demon's gift + To this in Val-Metas. Him Turpin smites + Nor mercy shows; 'gainst such a blow avails + The shield but little; sheer from side to side + Passes the blade ... dead on the place he falls. + At such exploit amazed, the French exclaim: + "The archbishop's crosier in his hand is safe!" + Aoi. + + + CXXVIII. + + The Count Rolland calls Olivier: "With me, + Companion, sire, confess that 'mong brave knights + The archbishop upon earth or under Heav'n + Has not his peer in casting spear or lance." + Olivier answers:--"To his rescue on!" + At this the French once more resume the fight. + Hard are the blows, rough is the strife--Meantime + The Christian host in greatest sorrow mourn. + Aoi. + + + CXXIX. + + Whoever could this fight describe? Rolland + And Olivier vie with Turpin in skill + And glorious deeds--The slain can counted be; + In charts and briefs their numbers are enrolled: + More than four thousand fell, so says the Geste. + Four times the French arms were victorious, + But on the fifth, a cruel fate they met; + The knights of France found there a grave, except + Three more whose lives God saved; yet those brave knights, + Ere falling, their last breath will dearly sell. + Aoi. + + + + + THE HORN. + + + CXXX. + + Seeing so many warriors fall'n around, + Rolland unto his comrade Olivier + Spoke thus: "Companion fair and dear, for God + Whose blessing rest on you, those vassals true + And brave lie corses on the battle-field: + Look! We must mourn for France so sweet and fair, + From henceforth widowed of such valiant knights. + Carle, 'would you were amongst us, King and friend! + What can we do, say, brother Olivier, + To bring him news of this sore strait of ours!" + Olivier answers:--"I know not; but this + I know; for us is better death than shame." + Aoi. + + + CXXXI. + + Rolland says;--"I will blow mine olifant, + And Carle will hear it from the pass. I pledge + My word the French at once retrace their steps." + Said Olivier:--"This a great shame would be, + One which to all your kindred would bequeathe + A lifetime's stain. When this I asked of you, + You answered nay, and would do naught. Well, now + With my consent you shall not;--if you blow + Your horn, of valor true you show no proof. + Already, both your arms are drenched with blood." + Responds the Count:--"These arms have nobly struck." + Aoi. + + + CXXXII. + + "The strife is rude," Rolland says--"I will blow + My horn, that Carle may hear."--Said Olivier:-- + "This would not courage be. What I desired, + Companion, you disdained. Were the king here, + Safe would we be, but yon brave men are not + To blame"--"By this my beard," said Olivier, + "I swear, if e'er I see again sweet Aude, + My sister, in her arms you ne'er shall lie." + Aoi. + + + CXXXIII. + + Rolland asked Olivier--"Why show to me + Your anger, friend!"--"Companion, yours the fault; + True courage means not folly. Better far + Is prudence than your valiant rage. Our French + Their lives have lost, your rashness is the cause. + And now our arms can never more give Carle + Their service good. Had you believed your friend, + Amongst us would he be, and ours the field, + The King Marsile, a captive or a corse. + Rolland, your valor brought ill fortune, nor + Shall Carle the great e'er more our help receive, + A man unequaled till God's judgment-day. + Here you shall die, and dying, humble France, ... + This day our loyal friendship ends--ere falls + The Vesper-eve, dolorously we part!" + Aoi. + + + CXXXIV. + + The Archbishop heard their strife. In haste he drives + Into his horse his spurs of purest gold, + And quick beside them rides. Then chiding them, + Says:--"Sire Rolland, and you, Sire Olivier, + In God's name be no feud between you two; + No more your horn shall save us; nathless 'twere + Far better Carle should come and soon avenge + Our deaths. So joyous then these Spanish foes + Would not return. But as our Franks alight, + Find us or slain or mangled on the field, + They will our bodies on their chargers' backs + Lift in their shrouds with grief and pity, all + In tears, and bury us in holy ground: + And neither wolves, nor swine, nor curs shall feed + On us--" Replies Rolland:--"Well have you said." + Aoi. + + + CXXXV. + + Rolland raised to his lips the olifant, + Drew a deep breath, and blew with all his force. + High are the mountains, and from peak to peak + The sound re-echoes; thirty leagues away + 'Twas heard by Carle and all his brave compeers. + Cried the king:--"Our men make battle!--" Ganelon + Retorts in haste:--"If thus another dared + To speak, we should denounce it as a lie." + Aoi. + + + CXXXVI. + + The Count Rolland in his great anguish blows + His olifant so mightily, with such + Despairing agony, his mouth pours forth + The crimson blood, and his swoll'n temples burst. + Yea, but so far the ringing blast resounds; + Carle hears it, marching through the pass, Naimes harks, + The French all listen with attentive ear. + "That is Rolland's horn!--" Carle cried, "which ne'er yet + Was, save in battle, blown!--" But Ganelon + Replies:--"No fight is there!--you, sire, are old, + Your hair and beard are all bestrewn with gray, + And as a child your speech. Well do you know + Rolland's great pride. 'Tis marvelous God bears + With him so long. Already took he Noble + Without your leave. The Pagans left their walls + And fought Rolland, your brave Knight, in the field; + With his good blade he slew them all, and then + Washed all the plain with water, that no trace + Of blood was left--yea, oftentimes he runs + After a hare all day and blows his horn. + Doubtless he takes his sport now with his peers; + And who 'neath Heav'n would dare attack Rolland? + None, as I deem. Nay, sire, ride on apace; + Why do you halt? Still far is the Great Land." + Aoi. + + + CXXXVII. + + Rolland with bleeding mouth and temples burst, + Still in his anguish, blows his olifant; + Carle hears it, and his Franks. The king exclaims: + "That horn has a long breath!" Duke Naimes replies: + "Rolland it is, and in a sore distress, + Upon my faith, a battle rages there! + A traitor he who would deceive you now. + To arms! Your war-cry shout, your kinsman save! + Plainly enough you hear his call for help." + Aoi. + + + CXXXVIII. + + Carle orders all the trumpeters to sound + The march. The French alight. They arm themselves + With helmets, hauberks and gold hilted swords, + Bright bucklers, long sharp spears, with pennons white + And red and blue. The barons of the host + Leap on their steeds, all spurring on; while through + The pass they march, each to the other says: + "Could we but reach Rolland before he dies, + What deadly blows, with his, our swords would strike!" + But what avails?--Too late they will arrive. + Aoi. + + + CXXXIX. + + The ev'n is clear, the sun its radiant beams + Reflects upon the marching legions. Spears, + Hauberks and helms, shields painted with bright flowers, + Gold pennons all ablaze with glitt'ring hues. + Burning with wrath the Emperor rides on; + The French with sad and angered looks. None there + But weeps aloud. All tremble for Rolland. + + * * * * * + + The King commands Count Ganelon be seized + And given to the scullions of his house. + Their chief, named Begue, he calls and bids: "Guard well + This man as one who all my kin betrayed." + Him Begue received, and set upon the Count + One hundred of his kitchen comrades--best + And worst;--they pluck his beard on lip and cheek; + Each deals him with his fist four blows, and falls + On him with lash and stick; they chain his neck + As they would chain a bear, and he is thrown + For more dishonor on a sumpter mule, + There guarded so until to Carle brought back. + Aoi. + + + CXL. + + High are the mountains, gloomy, terrible, + The valleys deep, and swift the rushing streams. + In van, in rear, the brazen trumpets blow, + Answ'ring the olifant. With angry look + Rides on the Emp'ror; filled with wrath and grief, + Follow the French, each sobbing, each in tears, + Praying that God may guard Rolland, until + They reach the battle-field. With him what blows + Will they not strike? Alas! what boots it now? + Too late they are and can not come in time. + Aoi. + + + CXLI. + + Carle in great anger rides--his snow-white beard + O'erspreads his breast-plate. Hard the Barons spur, + For never one but inwardly doth rage + That he is far from their great chief, Rolland, + Who combats now the Saracens of Spain: + If wounded he, will one of his survive? + O God! What Knights those sixty left by him! + Nor King nor captain better ever had.... + Aoi. + + + + + THE ROUT. + + + CXLII. + + The Count Rolland casts o'er the mounts and vales + A glance: French corses strew the plains in heaps; + He for them mourns as gentle chevalier. + At such a sight the noble hero weeps: + "Seigneurs, to you may God be merciful! + To all your souls may He grant Paradise, + And there may they on beds of heavenly flowers + Repose!--No better vassals lived! so long + Have ye served me! So many lands for Carle + Ye won!--The Emperor for this ill fate + Has nurtured you!--O land of France, most sweet + Art thou, but now forsaken and a waste. + Barons of France, to-day I see you die + For me; nor can I save or e'en defend + Your lives. Be God your aid, who ne'er played false! + Olivier, brother, I must not fail thee! + If other death comes not, of grief I die. + Come, sire companion ... come to fight again!" + Aoi. + + + CXLIII. + + Soon to the field returns the Count Rolland + With Durendal in hand; as a true knight + He fights. Faldrun del Pin he cleaves in half + With twenty-four among the bravest foes. + Never was man so bent upon revenge. + As run wild deer before the chasing hounds, + Before Rolland the Pagans flee.--"Well done!" + The Archbishop cries, "Such valor a true Knight + Should have, when mounted, armed, on his good steed! + Else, not four deniers is he worth: a monk + In cloister should he be, and spend his life + In praying for our sins!...." "Strike," said Rolland, + "No quarter!"--At the word the French renew + The combat ... yet the Christian loss was great. + Aoi. + + CXLIV. + + When soldiers on the battle-field expect + No quarter--desperate they fight; and thus + The French, like lions, fiercely stand at bay. + Like a true baron King Marsile rides forth + Upon his steed Gaignon, and spurs him on + Against Bevum, of Belne and Digun lord, + His buckler cleaves, his hauberk with a blow + Shatters, and lays him dead upon the field. + Then fall beneath the Pagan King, Ivoire + And Ivun; then Gerard de Roussillon.-- + The Count Rolland is nigh and cries aloud: + "God give damnation unto thee who thus + So foully slay'st my friends! But ere we part, + Dearly shalt thou abye it, and to-day + Shalt learn the name my good sword bears."--He strikes + The King a true Knight's stroke, and his right hand + Lops at the wrist; then Turfaleu the fair, + Marsile's own son, beheads. The Pagans say: + "Aid us, Mahum! Avenge us, Gods of ours, + On Carle, who brought such villains to our land, + As rather than depart will die."--And each + To each cries: "Let us fly!"--Upon the word, + A hundred thousand turn in sudden flight. + Whoever calls them, ne'er will they return. + Aoi. + + + CXLV. + + Alas, it not avails! If Marsile flies, + His uncle Marganice unhurt remained. + 'Tis he who held Carthage, Alferne, Garnaille, + And Ethiopia, a land accursed; + Chief of the Blacks, a thick-nosed, large-eared race. + Of these he more than fifty thousand leads, + Who ride on proudly, full of wrath, and shout + The Pagan war-cry.--"Here," said Count Rolland, + "Here shall we fall as martyrs. Well I know + Our end is nigh; but dastard I count him + Who sells not dear his life. Barons, strike well, + Strike with your burnished swords, and set such price + On death and life, that naught of shame shall fall + On our sweet France. When Carle, my lord, shall come + Upon this field, and see such slaughter here + Of Saracens, fifteen to one of ours, + Then will he breathe a blessing on his Knights." + Aoi. + + + + + OLIVIER'S DEATH. + + + CXLVI. + + When sees Rolland this tribe accursed, more black + Than ink, with glist'ning teeth, their only gleam + Of white, he said:--"Truly I know to-day + We die! Strike, Frenchmen, that is my command." + And Olivier, "Woe to the laggards," cries. + These words the French hearts fired to meet the fray. + Aoi. + + + CXLVII. + + The Pagans, when they mark how few the French, + Are filled with pride and comfort, and they say + One to the other:--"Their King Carle is wrong!"-- + Upon his sorrel steed sits Marganice; + Urging him hard with pricking spurs of gold, + Encounters Olivier--strikes him behind, + Drives his white hauberk-links into his heart, + And through in front came forth the pointed lance. + The Kalif cries:--"That blow struck home! Carlmagne, + For thy mishap, left you to guard the Pass! + That he has wronged us, little may he boast. + Your death alone for us a vengeance full!" + Aoi. + + + CXLVIII. + + Olivier knows his death-wound. In his hand + He grasps Halteclere's bright steel, and strikes a blow + Well aimed upon the Kalif's pointed helm; + He scatters golden flow'rs and gems in dust. + His head the trenchant blade cleaves to the teeth, + And dead the Kalif falls.--"Pagan accursed," + He cries, "not here shalt thou say Carle lost aught; + To wife nor lady shalt thou ever boast + In thine own land, that thou hast reft from Carle + One denier's worth, or me or others harmed!" + And then he called Rolland unto his aid. + Aoi. + + + CXLIX. + + Olivier feels that he is hurt to death. + No vengeance can suffice him; Baron-like + He strikes amid the press, cuts shields embossed + And ashen shafts, and spears, feet, shoulders, wrists + And breasts of horsemen. He who saw him thus + Dismember Saracens, corse over corse + Heap on the ground, would of a vassal true + Remembrance keep. Nor does he now forget + The rallying cry of Carle:--"Montjoie!" he cries + Loudly and clear; then calls Rolland, his friend + And compeer:--"Sire companion, stand by me! + This day our breaking hearts forever part!" + Aoi. + + + CL. + + Rolland looks Olivier full in the face; + Pale, livid, colorless; pure crimson blood + Drips from his body, and streams on the earth. + "God!" cried Rolland, "I know not what to do, + Companion, friend, thy courage was betrayed + To-day; nor will such courage e'er be seen + In human heart. Sweet France, oh! how shalt thou, + As widow, wail thy vassals true and brave, + Humbled and wrecked! The great heart of King Carle + Will break!" He spake and on his saddle swooned. + Aoi. + + + CLI. + + Behold Rolland, there, fainting on his steed, + While Olivier stands wounded to the death. + So great the loss of blood, his troubled eyes + See naught afar or near, nor mortal man + Can recognize. Encount'ring there Rolland, + Upon his golden-studded helm he struck + A dreadful blow, which to the nose-plate cleft, + And split the crest in twain, but left the head + Untouched. Rolland at this, upon him looks, + And softly, sweetly asks:--"Sire _compagnon_! + Was that blow meant for me? I am Rolland + By whom you are beloved so well; to me + Could you by any chance, defiance give?" + Said Olivier:--"I hear your speech, but see + You now no more. May God behold you, friend! + I struck the blow; beseech you, pardon me." + Rolland responds:--"I am not wounded--here + And before God I pardon you." At this, + Each to the other bends in courtesy. + With such great tenderness and love they part. + Aoi. + + + CLII. + + Olivier feels the agony of death; + His vacant eyes roll wildly in his head, + And all his hearing and his sight are lost. + Dismounting, on the ground he lies, and smites + His breast, aloud confessing all his sins; + With joined hands tow'rd Heaven lifted up + He prays to God to give him Paradise, + To bless Carl'magne, sweet France, and far beyond + All other men, Rolland, his _compagnon_. + His heart fails--forward droops his helmet--prone + Upon the earth he lies--'tis over now.... + The Count is dead. Rolland, the Baron, mourns + And weeps as never mortal mourned before. + Aoi. + + + CLIII. + + When sees the Count Rolland the breath of life + Gone from his friend, his body stretched on earth, + His face low in the dust, his tears gush out + With heavy sobs. Then tenderly he speaks: + "Alas! for all thy valor, comrade dear! + Year after year, day after day, a life + Of love we led; ne'er didst thou wrong to me, + Nor I to thee. If death takes thee away, + My life is but a pain." While speaking thus, + The _Marchis_ faints on Veillantif, his steed. + But still firm in his stirrups of pure gold: + Where'er Rolland may ride, he cannot fall. + Aoi. + + + CLIV. + + Scarce hath the Count recovered from his swoon, + When all the great disaster meets his sight; + The French lie on the field; all lost to him + Save the Archbishop and Gualtier de l'Hum, + Who had descended from the mountain height + Where he the men of Spain all day withstood + Till all his own fell 'neath the Pagan swords. + Willed he or not, he fled into the vale, + And now upon Rolland he calls for aid; + "Most gentle Count, most valiant, where art thou? + Ne'er had I fear where'er thou wert!--'tis I, + Gualtier, who conquered Maelgut, who am + Old gray-haired Drouen's nephew; till this day + My courage won thy love. So well I fought + Against the Saracens, my spear was broke, + My shield was pierced, my hauberk torn and wrung, + And in my body eight steel darts I bear. + Done are my days, but dear the last I sold!" + The words of that brave knight Rolland has heard, + Spurs on his steed and gallops to his help. + Aoi. + + + CLV. + + With grief and rage Rolland's great heart is full; + Amidst the thick ranks of a swarming foe + He rides. He fights--and twenty Pagans fall + Slain by his hand; by Gualtier's six, and five + By the Archbishop's. Loud the Pagans cry: + "Vile wretches these! Let none escape alive! + Eternal shame to them who dare not make + Attack; foul recreants those who let their flight + Avail."--Renewing then their hues and cries, + The Pagans rush from all parts 'gainst the knights. + Aoi. + + + + + CHARLEMAGNE APPROACHES. + + + CLVI. + + The Count Rolland was ever great in war; + Most valiant is Gualtier de l'Hum; Turpin + The Archbishop, of a valor proved: each leaves + The other naught to do, and 'mid the throng + Strikes Pagans down, who though one thousand foot + And forty thousand horsemen mustering, yet + Dare not approach, forsooth; but from afar + Against them hurl their jav'lins, spears and darts, + Their lances and winged arrows. First of all + Is slain Gualtier; Turpin de Reins' good shield + Is pierced, his helmet broken, and his head + Wounded, his hauberk shattered and dislinked; + Four spears have pierced his body; his good steed + Dies under him. Alas! the Archbishop falls. + Aoi. + + + CLVII. + + Hardly had Turpin fallen on the earth, + By four spear-shafts transfixed, when the brave knight + Sprang quickly to his feet once more. His look + Sought for Rolland to whom he ran in haste. + One word he said:--"Unconquered yet am I! + While life doth last, a true knight yields it not!" + He draws Almace, his sword of burnished steel, + And rushing 'mid the throng, one thousand blows + And more he deals.--Carle said in after days, + Turpin spared none, as dead upon the field + He saw four hundred men, some cut in twain, + Some with lopped heads: so says the Geste of France, + And one who saw the field, the brave Saint-Gille + For whom God showed his might; who in the cloister + Of Louem wrote the record of these deeds. + Who knows not this, he knows not any thing. + Aoi. + + + CLVIII. + + As hero fights the Count Rolland; but all + His body burns with heat and drips with sweat; + His head is torn by pain; his temple burst + By that strong blast he gave the olifant. + Still would he know if Carle returns; once more + He blows his horn--Alas, with feeble blast. + Carle caught the distant sound, and, list'ning, waits: + "Seigneurs," cried he, "great evils fall apace; + I hear his dying blast upon his horn. + If we would find him yet alive, we need + Urge on our steeds. Let all our trumpets blow!" + Then sixty thousand trumps rang forth their peals; + The hills reecho, and the vales respond. + The Pagans hear--and stay their gabbling mirth. + One to the other says:--"'Tis Carle who comes!" + Aoi. + + + CLIX. + + The Pagans say:--"The Emperor returns; + These are the clarions of the French we hear. + If Carle should come, 'twill be our doom; if lives + Rolland, the war begins anew, and Spain + Our land is lost to us for evermore." + Four hundred warriors well armed cap-a-pie, + The bravest of the host, then closed their ranks + And dashed in fierce attack against Rolland. + Mighty the deeds the Count must now achieve! + Aoi. + + + CLX. + + As they draw near, Rolland calls up his pride + And summons all his strength to meet the charge. + No foot of ground he yields while life remains. + Firm on his courser Veillantif he sits + And gores his flanks with spurs of purest gold. + Into the thickest ranks he and Turpin + The Archbishop rush. And now the Pagans all + Unto each other cry: "Hence, friends, away! + The horns of those of France we now have heard, + Carlemagne the mighty Emperor returns!" + Aoi. + + + CLXI. + + Ne'er could the Count Rolland a coward love, + Nor proud, nor wicked men, nor faithless knights. + He calls to the Archbishop: "You, on foot, + And I on horseback, sire! For love of you + I by your side will stand; together we + Will share or good or ill; I leave you not + For aught of human mold. This day we shall + Hurl back the Pagan charge, and Durendal + Shall deal his mightiest blows!"--To this replies + The Archbishop: "Traitor he who strikes not well! + King Carle returns--Great shall his vengeance be!" + Aoi. + + + CLXII. + + The Pagans say: "For such ill were we born! + What fatal morn this day for us has ris'n! + Dead lie our lords and Peers! With his great host + King Carle returns, the mighty Baron--Hark! + His clarions sound, and loud the cry 'Montjoie;' + Rolland has so great pride, no man of flesh + Can make him yield, or vanquished fall. 'Twere best + We pierced him from afar, and left him lying + Upon the field!"----'Twas done: darts, lances, spears, + Javelins, winged arrows flew so thick, + That his good shield was pierced, his hauberk rent + And torn apart--his body yet unharmed. + Veillantif, pierced with thirty wounds, falls dead + Beneath the Count.--The affrighted Pagans fly. + The Count Rolland stands on the field, alone. + Aoi. + + + + + THE LAST BENEDICTION OF THE ARCHBISHOP. + + + CLXIII. + + Raging in wrath the Pagans fly, and toward + The land of Spain they haste. The Count Rolland + Pursues them not, for Veillantif lies dead. + On foot he stands whether he will or not. + To help Turpin, the Archbishop, fast he ran, + His helm unclasped, removed the hauberk white + And light, then ripped the sides of his _blialt_ + To find his gaping wounds; then tenderly + Pressing him in his arms, on the green sward + He laid him gently down, and fondly prayed: + "O noble man, grant me your leave in this; + Our brave compeers, so dear to us, have breathed + Their last--we should not leave them on the field; + I will their bodies seek and gather here, + To lay them out before you."--"Go, and soon + Return," the Archbishop said; "the field is yours + And also mine, thanks to Almighty God!" + Aoi. + + + CLXIV. + + Alone the Count Rolland retraced his steps + Throughout the field. Vales, mounts, he searched, and found + Gerin and his companion Gerier, then + Berengier and Otun; here Anseis, + There Sansun, then beyond, Gerard the old + De Roussillon he found--one after one + He bore each knight within his arms, and placed + Them gently, side by side, before the knees + Of Turpin who cannot restrain his tears; + With lifted hands he blesses them and says: + "Most hapless Knights!--May God the Glorious + Receive your souls, and in his Paradise + 'Mid holy flowers place them!--In this hour + Of death, my deepest grief is that no more + The mighty Emperor I shall behold!" + Aoi. + + + CLXV. + + Rolland turns back, and searching through the field, + Has found, alas! his comrade Olivier.... + He pressed him 'gainst his bosom tenderly, + And, as he could, returning to Turpin, + Stretched on a shield he lays him down among + The other knights. The Archbishop then assoils + And signs him with the holy cross. The grief + And pity were more sore than heart can bear.... + Then said Rolland:--"Fair comrade Olivier, + Son of the good Count Renier, he who held + The marches to the distant shores of Gennes; + To break a lance, to pierce a shield, the brave + To counsel, traitors to dismay and foil, + No land e'er saw a better _chevalier_." + Aoi. + + + CLXVI. + + When Count Rolland beheld his Peers lie dead, + And Olivier, that friend so tenderly + Beloved, his soul by pity was o'erflowed; + Tears from his eyes gush out, his countenance + Turns pale; distressed, he can no longer stand. + Would he or not, he swooned and fell to earth. + The Archbishop said: "Baron, what woe is yours!" + Aoi. + + + CLXVII. + + The Archbishop, when he saw Count Rolland swoon, + Felt keener grief than e'er he felt before; + Stretched forth his hand, and took the olifant.-- + Ronceval there is a running stream; + Thence will he water bring to Count Rolland. + Staggering, with feeble steps, thither he goes, + But loss of blood has made him all too weak: + Ere he has gone an acre's length, his heart + Fails, and he sinks in mortal agony. + Aoi. + + + CLXVIII. + + Meantime the Count Rolland revives.--Erect + He stands, but with great pain; then downward looks + And upward. Then he sees the noble lord + The Archbishop, holy minister of God, + Beyond his comrades lying on the sward + Stretched out.--He lifts his eyes to Heav'n, recalls + His sins, and raising both his joined hands, + He prays Our God to grant him paradise.-- + Turpin, Carle's Knight, is dead, who all his life, + With doughty blows and sermons erudite, + Ne'er ceased to fight the Pagans. May the Lord + Grant him His holy blessing evermore! + Aoi. + + + CLXIX. + + The Count Rolland sees lifeless on the field + The Archbishop lie; gush from the gaping wounds + His entrails in the dust, and through his skull + The oozing brain pours o'er his brow.--In form + Of holy Cross upon his breast Rolland + Disposes both his hands so fair and white, + And mourned him in the fashion of his land: + "O noble man! O knight of lineage pure! + To the Glorious One of Heav'n I thee commend; + For ne'er was man who Him more truly served, + Nor since the Apostles' days, such prophet, strong, + To keep God's law and draw the hearts of men. + From ev'ry pain your soul be freed, and wide + Before it ope the Gates of Paradise!" + Aoi. + + + + + ROLAND'S DEATH. + + + CLXX. + + Rolland now feels his death is drawing nigh: + From both his ears the brain is oozing fast. + For all his peers he prays that God may call + Their souls to Him; to the Angel Gabriel + He recommends his spirit. In one hand + He takes the olifant, that no reproach + May rest upon him; in the other grasps + Durendal, his good sword. Forward he goes, + Far as an arblast sends a shaft, across + A new-tilled ground and toward the land of Spain. + Upon a hill, beneath two lofty trees, + Four terraces of marble spread:--he falls + Prone fainting on the green, for death draws near. + Aoi. + + + CLXXI. + + High are the mounts, and lofty are the trees. + Four terraces are there, of marble bright: + There Count Rolland lies senseless on the grass. + Him at this moment spies a Saracen + Who lies among the corpses, feigning death, + His face and body all besmeared with blood. + Sudden he rises to his feet, and bounds + Upon the Baron.--Handsome, brave and strong + He was, but from his pride sprang mortal rage. + He seized the body of Rolland, and grasped + His arms, exclaiming thus:--"Here vanquished Carle's + Great nephew lies!"--"This sword to Araby + I'll bear."--He drew it;--this aroused the Count. + Aoi. + + + CLXXII. + + Rolland perceived an alien hand would rob + Him of his sword; his eyes he oped; one word + He spoke:--"I trow, not one of us art thou!" + Then with his olifant from which he parts + Never, he smites the golden studded helm, + Crushing the steel, the head, the bones; both eyes + Are from their sockets beaten out--o'erthrown + Dead at the Baron's feet he falls:--"O wretch," + He cries, "how durst thou, or for good or ill, + Lay hands upon Rolland? Who hears of this + Will call thee fool. Mine olifant is cleft, + Its gems and gold all scattered by the blow." + Aoi. + + + CLXXIII. + + Now feels Rolland that death is near at hand + And struggles up with all his force; his face + Grows livid;--[Durendal, his naked sword] + He holds;--beside him rises a gray rock + On which he strikes ten mighty blows through grief + And rage--The steel but grinds; it breaks not, nor + Is notched; then cries the Count:--"Saint Mary, help! + O Durendal! Good sword! ill starred art thou! + Though we two part, I care not less for thee. + What victories together thou and I, + Have gained, what kingdoms conquered, which now holds + White-bearded Carle! No coward's hand shall grasp + Thy hilt: a valiant knight has borne thee long, + Such as none shall e'er bear in France the Free!" + Aoi. + + + CLXXIV. + + Rolland smites hard the rock of Sardonix; + The steel but grinds, it breaks not, nor grows blunt; + Then seeing that he can not break his sword, + Thus to himself he mourns for Durendal: + "O good my sword, how bright and pure! Against + The sun what flashing light thy blade reflects! + When Carle passed through the valley of Moriane, + The God of Heaven by his Angel sent + Command that he should give thee to a Count, + A valiant captain; it was then the great + And gentle King did gird thee to my side.-- + With thee I won for him Anjou--Bretaigne; + For him with thee I won Poitou, le Maine + And Normandie the free; I won Provence + And Aquitaine, and Lumbardie, and all + The Romanie; I won for him Baviere, + All Flandre--Buguerie--all Puillanie, + Costentinnoble which allegiance paid, + And Saxonie submitted to his power; + For him I won Escoce and Galle, Irlande + And Engleterre he made his royal seat; + With thee I conquered all the lands and realms + Which Carle, the hoary-bearded monarch, rules. + Now for this sword I mourn.... Far better die + Than in the hands of Pagans let it fall! + May God, Our Father, save sweet France this shame!" + Aoi. + + + CLXXV. + + Upon the grey rock mightily he smites, + Shattering it more than I can tell; the sword + But grinds.--It breaks not--nor receives a notch, + And upwards springs more dazzling in the air. + When sees the Count Rolland his sword can never break, + Softly within himself its fate he mourns: + "O Durendal, how fair and holy thou! + In thy gold-hilt are relics rare; a tooth + Of great saint Pierre--some blood of Saint Basile, + A lock of hair of Monseigneur Saint Denis, + A fragment of the robe of Sainte-Marie. + It is not right that Pagans should own thee; + By Christian hand alone be held. Vast realms + I shall have conquered once that now are ruled + By Carle, the King with beard all blossom-white, + And by them made great emperor and Lord. + May thou ne'er fall into a cowardly hand." + Aoi. + + + CLXXVI. + + The Count Rolland feels through his limbs the grasp + Of death, and from his head ev'n to his heart + A mortal chill descends. Unto a pine + He hastens, and falls stretched upon the grass. + Beneath him lie his sword and olifant, + And toward the Heathen land he turns his head, + That Carle and all his knightly host may say: + "The gentle Count a conqueror has died...." + Then asking pardon for his sins, or great + Or small, he offers up his glove to God. + Aoi. + + + CLXXVII. + + The Count Rolland feels now his end approach. + Against a pointed rock, and facing Spain, + He lies. Three times he beats his breast, and says: + "Mea culpa! Oh, my God, may through thy grace, + Be pardoned all my sins, or great or small, + Until this hour committed since my birth!" + Then his right glove he offers up to God, + And toward him angels from high Heav'n descend. + Aoi. + + + CLXXVIII. + + Beneath a pine Rolland doth lie, and looks + Toward Spain--He broods on many things of yore: + On all the lands he conquered, on sweet France, + On all his kinsmen, on great Carle his lord + Who nurtured him;--he sighs--nor can restrain + His tears, but can not yet himself forget; + Recalls his sins, and for the grace of God + He prays:--"Our Father, never yet untrue, + Who Saint-Lazare raised from the dead, and saved + Thy Daniel from the lions' claws--Oh, free + My soul from peril, from my whole life's sins!" + His right hand glove he offered up to God; + Saint Gabriel took the glove.--With head reclined + Upon his arm, with hands devoutly joined + He breathed his last. God sent his Cherubim, + Saint-Raphael, _Saint Michiel del Peril_. + Together with them Gabriel came.--All bring + The soul of Count Rolland to Paradise.... + Aoi. + + + + + THE CHASTISEMENT OF THE SARACENS. + + + CLXXIX. + + Rolland is dead: God has his soul in heaven. + To Ronceval the Emperor has come. + There, neither road nor any path is seen, + Nor vacant space, nor ell, nor foot of land + That mounds of mangled bodies cover not, + Pagans or French.--The Emperor exclaims: + "Fair nephew, where art thou? The Archbishop, where? + And Olivier, alas, where are they all? + Gerin, Gerier, the two companions, where + Are they? And where is Otes and Berengier, + Ives and Ivoire both to my heart so dear? + The Gascuin Engelier, Sansun the Duke, + Anseis the rash, Gerard de Roussillon + The old, and my twelve Peers I left behind, + What fate is theirs?"--What boots it? None replies.-- + "God," cries the King, "what grief is mine to think + I stood not here the battle to begin." + He tears his beard with anger; all his knights + And barons weep great tears; dizzy with woe + And swooning, twenty thousand fall to earth. + Duke Naimes feels pity overflow his heart. + Aoi. + + + CLXXX. + + No baron is there now, no chevalier + Who, in his pity, sheds not tears for sons, + For brothers--nephews--friends--and for liege-lords. + Many have fallen swooning on the earth, + But Duke Naimes bore himself as valorous knight: + He foremost said to Carle:--"Behold two leagues + Away!--The roads are dark with clouds of dust. + There swarm the Pagan tribes.... Ride on them now, + Avenge this bitter woe."--"O God," said Carle, + "Are they already flown so far?--our rights + And honor shield! Those Pagans took from me + The flower of my Sweet France!"--The King commands + Gebuin, Otun, Tedbalt de Reins and Count + Milun:--"Watch ye the field, the vales, the mounts; + The slain, leave to their rest; see that no beast + Nor lion, squire nor page approach. I charge + You, let no man upon them lay his hand + Until, with God's assistance, we return." + They lovingly and with sweet tone reply: + "Thus shall we do, just Emperor, dear sire!" + Upon the field they keep one thousand knights. + Aoi. + + + CLXXXI. + + Now bids the Emperor his trumpets blow, + Then forward at the head of his great host + He rides, that Baron true. Of those of Spain + He finds the tracks, points out the road; in quick + Pursuit all follow Carle.... When sees the King + The eve decline, he on the verdant grass + Dismounts, and prostrate prays to God our Lord + The sun to stay, the shades of night hold back + And longer make the day. To him appears + A Counselor-Angel with the swift command; + "Ride on, O King, nor fear that night shall fall! + God knows that thou hast lost the flower of France; + But vengeance canst have now upon that horde + Of unbelievers." Thus the Angel spake. + The Emp'ror rises and remounts his steed. + Aoi. + + + CLXXXII. + + To Carlemagne Our Lord now showed his might; + The sun stays in its course. The Pagans fly, + And fast the French pursuing, overtake + Them in the Val-Tenebre. They drive them on + Toward Sarraguce, while close behind them fall + The upraised swords, and strew the ground with dead. + No issue, no escape, by road or pass! + In front deep Ebro rolls its mighty waves: + No boat, no barge, no raft. They call for help + On Tervagant, then plunge into the flood. + Vain was their trust: some, weighted with their arms, + Sink in a moment; others are swept down, + And those most favored swallow monstrous draughts. + All drown most cruelly. The French cry out: + "For your own woe wished ye to see Rolland!" + Aoi. + + + CLXXXIII. + + When Carle sees all the Pagans dead--some slain, + The others drowned, his chevaliers enriched + With spoils, the noble King dismounts, on earth + Prostrates himself and offers thanks to God. + When he arose, the sun had set. "'Tis time," + He said, "to think of camping now. Too late + It is for our advance to Ronceval. + Our horses are all weary and foredone: + Unsaddle them and take the bridles off; + And let them roam at large about these meads." + The French reply: "Sire, you have spoken well." + Aoi. + + + CLXXXIV. + + The Emperor makes here his harborage. + The French dismount, take off the golden curbs + And saddles from their steeds, and turn them loose + In the green mead, amid the plenteous grass: + No other care they need. Upon the ground + The over-wearied cast themselves and sleep. + No watch was set in all the host that night. + Aoi. + + + CLXXXV. + + The Emperor reposes on the field, + His mighty lance hard by his pillow planted, + For he, on such a night will not disarm. + His hauberk white, with orfreyed-marge he wears, + His helmet, rich with gold and gems is laced, + Girded Joyeuse, the sword without a peer, + Who thirty times a day can change his hue. + Many a time you all heard of the lance + Wherewith Our Lord was pierced upon the cross, + The steel whereof Carle has, thanks be to God, + Closed in the golden pommel of his sword. + For this great glory and exceeding worth + The brand was called _Joyeuse_. This all French Knights + Should bear in mind, for it was hence they took + Their war-cry of _Montjoie_, and for this cause + No other people can resist their arms. + Aoi. + + + CLXXXVI. + + Clear is the night, bright shines the moon; at rest + Lies Carle; but grief is with him for Rolland, + And Olivier is heavy on his heart; + The twelve Peers, too, and all the men of France, + Left stark and bloody there at Ronceval. + He cannot help but weep, and sob, and pray + That mighty God be keeper of their souls. + Tired is the King, his toils being very great; + Deeply asleep he falls, and can no more. + Through all the fields the scattered French sleep sound, + Nor there a horse has strength enough to stand; + If one need grass, he bites it as he lies. + Right wise is he that's wise in lore of woe. + Aoi. + + + CLXXXVII. + + Carle sleeps as man by toil outdone. God sends + Saint Gabriel down, the Emperor to guard. + All night beside his head the Angel stands, + And in a dream forebodes that 'gainst the French + A battle is prepared, and its portent + Explains; then glancing up tow'rd Heav'n, King Carle + Sees thunder-clouds and winds, hail, raging storms + And wond'rous tempests--smould'ring fire and flames + Ready to burst forth. Suddenly on all + His people falls the blast. Their spears with shafts + Of apple-tree or ash--those shields ablaze + Unto their golden rings--shafts from their points + Break off--Steel helms and hauberks clash and clang. + He sees his Knights in dire distress. Meantime + Devouring pards and bears rush on them; snakes + And vipers--dragons, fiends--and with them more + Than thirty thousand griffons. 'Mong the French + None can escape this hideous horde.--"Carlemagne, + Come to our help!" they cry. With pity seized, + Fain would he thither, but his steps are stayed: + Deep from a wood a lion huge comes on. + The beast is haughty, fierce and terrible, + And, springing, seeks his very body out. + Each wrestles with the other in his arms; + But which shall fall, which stand, this no man knows. + Never a jot the Emperor awakes. + Aoi. + + + CLXXXVIII. + + Another vision follows this: in France + At Aix he is:--Upon a marble step + He stands, and holds in two-fold chains a bear. + From towards Ardennes he sees rush forth a pack + Of thirty other bears which speak as men. + They say:--"To us restore him, Sire! Not right + It were that you should keep him longer; help + Our kin we must."--Then from his palace runs + A greyhound fair which on the verdant grass + Assails the fiercer of the other beasts + Before them all. The King a wond'rous fight + Beholds: but who shall win or lose, none knows. + This is a dream God's Angel showed to Carle, + Who sleeps until the morrow's morn appeared. + Aoi. + + + CLXXXIX. + + By rapid flight Marsile reached Sarraguce.-- + Dismounting 'neath a shady olive-tree, + He strips himself of breast-plate, helmet, sword, + And sinks upon the sward with ghastly look. + His right hand severed from the wrist whence blood + Is gushing forth, has made him swoon with pain. + Before Marsile, his spouse, Queen Bramimunde, + Bursts into tears, and cries, and woeful moans. + Around stand more than twenty thousand men + Who with one voice accuse Sweet France and Carle; + Apollo's grotto seek they, and with taunts, + Profane, insulting words, their God revile: + "What ails thee, evil God, to shame us thus, + And to confusion bring our Lord the King? + Who serves thee well vile guerdon gains from thee!" + Despoiled of crown and scepter, by the hands + They hang him on a column--neath their feet + They roll him down.--They with great clubs deface + And beat him; then from Tervagant they snatch + His carbuncle; Mohamed in a ditch + Throw down--there bitt'n, trampled on, by swine and dogs. + Aoi. + + + CXC. + + Recov'ring from his swoon, the King Marsile + Commands they lead him to his vaulted room + All bright with color and inscribed with verse. + There weeping bitterly, Queen Bramimunde + Tearing her hair, aloud proclaims her grief: + "O hapless Sarraguce, thou art bereft + Of the most gentle King that was thy Lord! + Our gods betrayed our trust, they who this morn + In battle failed us;--the Emir coward were + Would he not fight these people bold who are + So proud they care not for their lives. Carl'magne, + The Emperor, whose beard is strewn with gray, + Among his men has dauntless Knights; if e'er + He fight, no step he yields. Great woe it is + That there is no man who can give him death." + Aoi. + + + CXCI. + + By his great power the Emperor in Spain + Full seven years remained; he castles took + And many cities, bringing sore distress + To King Marsile. The year had scarce begun + Before his word went forth to seal the briefs + Which summoned Baligant from Babylone, + (The aged Emir, he whose life outlived + Homer and Virgil). Now the King Marsile + Had begged the Baron's help for Sarraguce. + Should he not come, gods, idols, once adored + He will renounce, the holy Faith of Christ + Embrace, and join in friendship with King Carle. + Afar was Baligant, and tarried long; + From forty realms his people had he called + And ordered to prepare his _dromonds_ vast, + Barks, galleys, ev'ry vessel. In the port + Of Alexandria the fleet had met; + In May it was, the first of summer-days, + A mighty host he launched upon the deep. + Aoi. + + + CXCII. + + Great are the forces of their hostile horde; + They swiftly skim the waves, and steer, and sail; + Their masts and yards so blazing with the light + Of carbuncles and lanterns, night gives up + Its darkness and still fairer shows the sea. + As they approached the shores of Spain, the land + Was all aglow, and tidings reached Marsile. + Aoi. + + + CXCIII. + + The Pagans halt no moment; soon they leave + The deep, and in fresh water steer; Marbreise + And then Marbruse is passed; along the shores + Of winding Ebro glides the armament, + Setting the night aflame with carbuncles + And lights: the same day reached they Sarraguce. + Aoi. + + + CXCIV. + + Clear is the day and bright the sun; descends + The Emir from his ship. Espaneliz + Walks forth upon his right; a train of Kings + In number seventeen, with Dukes and Counts + Innumerable, follow. 'Mid the plain + Grows a great laurel, and beneath its shade + They spread a _pallie_ of white silk upon + The verdant grass, and place a faldstool there + Of ivory. In this sits Baligant + The Pagan. All the others stand. First spake + The chief:--"Oyez, all ye, most valiant Knights! + King Carle, the Emperor, who leads the Franks, + Shall eat not, save by my command. Throughout + All Spain, 'gainst me a cruel war he waged: + Now I will seek him in sweet France, nor, while + My life lasts, cease until he dies the death, + Or, living, yields, and mercy begs." He spake + And struck his right-hand glove upon his knee. + Aoi. + + + CXCV. + + His word once spoken was to him a law: + Though it cost all the gold beneath the sky, + Yet would he march to Aix, where Carle was wont + To hold his court. Some praise him, even give + Him counsel. Two from out his host of Knights + He summons, Clarien, and Clarifan: + "Ye are the sons of King Maltraien, + A willing message bearer: 'tis my will + Ye go to Sarraguce; there in my name + Give ye this message to the King Marsile: + I have come to succor him against the French, + And if I find them, great the fight will be. + Give him this gold-embroidered glove, and place it + On his right hand; give him this staff of gold; + And when he comes to pay me homage, as + A vassal to his lord, I then will lead + My force to France to fight with Carlemagne. + If he fall not before my feet to pray + For mercy, and abjure the Christian law, + I from his head will tear away the crown." + The Pagans answer all:--"Well spoken, Sire." + Aoi. + + + CXCVI. + + "Barons! to horse!" said Baligant. "Bear thou + The glove, and thou the staff." The two reply: + "Dear Sire, thus shall we do." So fast they rode + They soon reached Sarraguce. Beneath ten gates + They pass, four bridges cross, ride through the streets + Where stand the burghers. But on drawing near + The lofty citadel, they heard great noise + About the palace, where were thronging crowds + Of Pagans with loud wails and shrieks of woe, + Crying out against their gods, on Tervagan, + Mahum, Apollo, who avail them naught. + Each says to each, "Ah, caitiffs, what shall now + Befall us, miserable? for we have lost + The King Marsile whose hand Rolland struck off; + For aye we are bereft of Turfaleu + The Fair, his son. This day the land of Spain + Into the Christian hands will fall enslaved!" + The message-bearers reach the royal gates. + Aoi. + + + CXCVII. + + Beneath an olive tree they halt, and soon + Two Pagans take their curbed steeds in charge. + The messengers, each holding by the cloak + The other, hasten to the highest tower. + Entering the vaulted hall where lay Marsile, + An evil greeting offer with good will: + "May Tervagan, Apollo, he who holds + Us in his service, and our Sire Mahum, + Preserve our king and guard the queen!" + Whereat cried Bramimunde:--"What folly this! + Our gods are false; too well in Ronceval + They showed their evil power, and let our knights + Be slain--amid the battle-field forsook + My lord the king with his right hand struck off + By mighty Count Rolland. The realm of Spain + Will fall enslaved beneath the sway of Carle. + What shall become of me, most miserable? + Alas! is there no man to give me death!" + Aoi. + + + CXCVIII. + + Said Clarien:--"Lady, speak not thus--Behold, + Messengers we, from Baligant, who swears + To free Marsile, and to him sends his glove + And staff as tokens--on the Ebro float + Four thousand galleys, skiffs and swiftest boats; + More sails than can be numbered! Rich and great + The Emir.--Carle, pursued to France, shall be + Per force, or still, or dead, or penitent." + Said Bramimunde:--"Yea, greater ills will come. + To meet the Franks you need not go so far; + Carle seven years in Spain has tarried. Brave + Is he in battle, and a Baron true; + Ready to die ere he will quit the field; + No king on earth but is to him a child. + Carle's spirit yields before no living man." + Aoi. + + + CXCIX. + + "Let all that be!" cried to the messengers + The King Marsile--"Seigneurs, speak but to me, + You see me now crushed unto death. No son + Nor daughter have I left, nor other heir; + One son I had, who yestereve was slain. + Say to my Lord his coming I beseech. + Some rights to Spain the Emir has; to him + I grant the realm in full, if he accept. + Let him defend this land against the French, + To meet Carlemagne good counsel I will give, + And victor he will be before this day + A month. Bear him the keys of Sarraguce; + Thence, if he trust my words, he ne'er will be + Expelled." They answer:--"Sire, you speak the truth." + Aoi. + + + CC. + + "The Emperor Carle," said King Marsile, "has slain + My men, ravaged my land, shattered and stormed + My cities; now on Ebro's banks he camps, + But seven counted leagues away. Bid ye + The Emir march up all his force. Bear him + My order for the fight." With this he gives + Into their hands the keys of Sarraguce. + Upon these words the messengers bent low + In last salute, took leave, and went their way. + Aoi. + + + CCI. + + The messengers upon their horses mount + And gallop from the city in hot haste. + With terror struck, both to the Emir come, + Deliv'ring up the keys of Sarraguce. + Said Baligant:--"What found ye there? Where is + The King Marsile whom I commanded forth?" + Clarien makes answer:--"He is hurt to death; + The Emp'ror yesterday marched through the pass + Upon his homeward way into sweet France. + For greater honor, in the rear, Rolland, + His nephew, had a post with Olivier, + All the twelve Peers and twenty thousand knights. + The King Marsile, the valiant Baron, fought + And fierce encounter had with Count Rolland, + Who dealt with Durendal so dire a blow, + The king's right hand was severed from his arm. + Slain was the son he loved so tenderly, + With all the Barons he had brought with him; + Unable to resist, he took to flight, + And Carle, the Emperor, followed close behind. + Now give your help to King Marsile, who craves + Your aid, and as your guerdon all the realm + Of Spain receive." But Baligant remains + Deep sunk in thought, nigh maddened by his grief. + Aoi. + + + CCII. + + "Sire Emir," Clarien said, "on yesterday + A battle raged in Ronceval; Rolland + And Olivier are dead, and the twelve Peers + To Carle so dear, with twenty thousand Franks + Have perished; King Marsile lost his right hand, + And fled in hottest speed pursued by Carle. + In all the land no Knight remains but slain + Or in the waters of the Ebro drowned. + Upon its banks the French encamp--So nigh-- + Had you the will, unsafe would be their flight." + Then Baligant looks at him full of pride; + And his heart swells with courage and fierce joy. + Sudden from his footstool he springs, and loud + He cries:--"Delay not--disembark! To horse! + And forward! Now, unless Carlemagne the old + By flight escape, the King Marsile shall be + Avenged. For his right hand Carle's head shall pay." + Aoi. + + + CCIII. + + Out of their skiffs the Arab Pagans spring, + And mounting mules and horses, march; what else + But this for them to do? When forward moves + The host in serried lines, the Emir calls + On Genalfin, his chosen friend: "To thee + Command of all my armies I confide."-- + He said--and straight on his bay destrier mounts; + Four Dukes rode with him, and so fast he sped, + Ere long they entered into Sarraguce. + Before a marble terrace he dismounts, + Four Counts his stirrup held, and by the steps + Which led up to the palace he ascends. + To him runs Bramimunde:--"What cruel dole + Is mine, oh, woe! How shamefully," she cried, + "Have I now lost my lord!"--And at his feet + Prostrate she fell. The Emir raised her up, + And, grieving, both into the chamber went. + Aoi. + + + CCIV. + + The King Marsile, on seeing Baligant, + Summoned two Spanish Saracens, and bade + His body to be raised that he might sit. + With his left hand he took a glove, and thus + He spoke:--"Sir King and Emir, all my lands + And kingdoms, Sarraguce, domains and fiefs + But wreck and ruin--Subjects, wealth--all lost." + Answered the Emir:--"I, so much the more, + Grieve for thy sorrow; but for longer speech + I can not stay; for Carle, I know, will not + Be still. But, nathless, I receive the glove." + O'erwhelmed with sorrow, weeping he departs; + The palace steps descending, mounts his horse + And spurs him towards the waiting hosts so fast, + That of the foremost ranks he takes the lead; + And cries aloud, going from man to man: + "Haste, Pagans! On!--Already flee the Franks." + Aoi. + + + CCV. + + At earliest morn, just as the dawn appeared, + From sleep awakes the Emp'ror Carlemagne; + Saint-Gabriel, his guardian, sent by God, + With hands uplifted signed him with the cross. + The King arises, takes his armor off, + And all the host disarm.--The mounted knights + Then ran at speed back o'er the trampled ways, + The weary roads, to view the woeful loss + Once more, on Ronceval's bloody battle-field. + Aoi. + + + CCVI. + + Arrived upon the field of Ronceval, + Where lay so many slain, Carle wept, and said + Unto the French:--"Seigneurs, move slowly here; + For I alone, will forward go in search + Of my fair nephew lost among the dead. + Erst when at Aix on Christmas' solemn feast, + My valiant bachelors, in warlike deeds + Their exploits vaunting, I could hear Rolland + Say, should he ever die on foreign soil, + Before his peers and men he should be found + Facing the foe, true Baron, conqu'ror still." + A few steps further than a staff's throw, Carle + Far in advance of all, ascends a hill. + Aoi. + + + CCVII. + + When sought the Emperor his nephew there, + Amid the field, and found so many plants + With blossoms crimsoned by our Barons' blood, + By pity moved he can not choose but weep. + Mounting the hill, beneath two trees, he knew + The blow upon the three rocks Rolland struck, + And saw his nephew lying on the sward, + A mangled corse--No wonder Carle is wroth; + Alights in haste and lifting in his arms + The Count, broken by grief upon him faints. + Aoi. + + + CCVIII. + + From his deep swoon the Emperor revives. + Duke Naimes, Count Acelin, Geffrei d'Anjou + His brother Tierri raise the King, and place + Him resting 'gainst a pine. There on the earth + He sees his nephew lying dead, and mourns + O'er him with gentle words and tender looks, + "Sweet friend, Rolland, God's mercy unto thee! + Such peerless knight none ever yet has seen, + For noble combats ordered and achieved! + Mine honor turns to its decline!--" Once more + Carle's will and strength succumb.... He faints away. + Aoi. + + + CCIX. + + Again King Carle recovers from his swoon.... + Four of his Barons, with their hands support + His form. His downcast looks see stretched on earth + His nephew's corpse. Discolored was the brow, + Yet proud the look; the dimmed and sightless eyes + Turned up.... In faith and love King Carle laments. + "Sweet friend Rolland, may God enshrine thy soul + Among the Glorified, amidst the flowers + Of Paradise! For thy mishap, Seigneur, + Camest thou to Spain.... No future day shall dawn + For me, on which I mourn thee not.... Now fall'n + My strength and power! Who now will e'er support + My royal fiefs? Thou wast for me 'neath Heav'n + The one true friend! though other kindred mine, + Was none so brave and wise."--He tore his hair + In handfuls from his brow. So great the grief + Of those one hundred thousand Franks, that none + There was, of all, who wept not bitter tears. + Aoi. + + + CCX. + + "Beloved Rolland, to France I now return. + When in my chamber I shall be at Louen, + And foreign men come from afar to ask + Where lives Rolland the Captain, I shall say + 'He lieth dead in Spain;' and I henceforth + Shall hold my realm in bitter pain. No day + Shall dawn for me unmarked by tears and moans." + Aoi. + + + CCXI. + + "Sweet friend Rolland, brave Knight and beauteous youth, + When I return to Aix, in my Chapelle, + And men shall come to hear me speak of thee, + What strange and cruel news I then shall have + To greet them with! 'My nephew who for me + Such conquests made ... is dead.' And Saxons now + Will rise against my power, and Hungres, and Bugres + With other foes--the men of Rome, of Pouille, + And all those of Palerne; and those who hold + Affrike and Califerne. Day after day + My pain will grow--Who then shall lead my host + With such an arm of might, since he is dead, + Who was our chief and head so long. Alas! + Sweet France, bereft art thou! So great my grief + I would not live!"--he plucks out his white beard + And tears his hair with both hands from his head. + Swoon on the earth one hundred thousand Franks-- + Aoi. + + + CCXII. + + "Sweet friend," he cried, "Rolland, thou art no more: + Oh! may thy soul have place in Paradise! + Who gave thee death brought grievous shame to France. + Such is my grief, I would not longer live. + My kinsmen died for me! I pray Our Lord, + The Blessed Mary's son, before I reach + Cizra's defiles, from mortal life to take + My soul away, and let it rest with theirs. + I would my body lay beside their own!" + And, weeping sore, he tears his hoary beard.... + Then said Duke Naimes:--"What cruel pain is Carle's!" + Aoi. + + + CCXIII. + + "Sire Emperor," spoke forth Geffrei d'Anjou, + "Yield not so much to sorrow--Orders give + To seek our men throughout the battle-field, + In combat killed by those of Spain, and lay + Them in one grave"--Carle said: "Then sound your horn." + Aoi. + + + CCXIV. + + Geffrei d'Anjou obeyed and blew his horn; + The French dismount, such was the king's command, + And all their friends found slain upon the field + Together in one charnel wide inter: + A crowd of bishops, abbots, canons, monks + And tonsured priests there gathered, in the name + Of God assoil and bless; incense and myrrh + Are burned in reverence and love before + The dead who, buried there with honors great, + Are left alone--what more was there to do? + Aoi. + + + CCXV. + + The Emp'ror Carle gives order that a watch + Be kept around Rolland, Count Olivier + And the Archbishop Turpin; bade their breasts + Be oped before him, and their hearts enwrapped + In silken cloths--in tombs of marble white + Inurned; the bodies of the Barons then + Perfumed with wine and fragrant herbs; the three + Seigneurs in wrappings of stag's hide were cased; + By Carle's decree Tedbald and Gebuin, + _Marchis_ Othon and Count Milon escort + Them on their way, upon three chariots borne, + And covered well with palls of glazed silk. + Aoi. + + + CCXVI. + + King Carle about to start, sees suddenly + Emerge the Pagan van. From Baligant, + The battle to declare, two messengers + Advance:--"Proud king, from here thou must not go; + Behold, the Emir to thine encounter comes + And brings a mighty host from Araby. + This day will prove if truly valiant knight + Thou art." Carl'magne, the king, plucks his gray beard; + So cruel is the memory of all + His grief and wrong, proudly he casts a look + Upon his knightly host, and with loud voice + Exclaims:--"Seigneurs Barons! To horse! To arms!" + Aoi. + + + CCXVII. + + First of them all the Emperor is armed. + Quick donned his hauberk,--laced his helm--Joyeuse, + Whose brightness vies with the sun's dazzling rays, + Is girded on--a shield of Girunde hangs + Upon his neck,--his lance, forged in Blandune + He wields, and mounts his good steed Tencendur + Which nigh the ford below Marsune he won, + When he struck dead Malpalin de Nerbune. + Quick to a gallop spurred, rein loosed, the steed + Sped on, before one hundred thousand men. + Carle calls on Rome's Apostle and on God. + Aoi. + + + CCXVIII. + + Spread o'er the field the men of France dismount. + More than one hundred thousand arm themselves + Together--Brilliant their array! Their steeds + Are fleet, arms gleaming; bright the pennons float + Above their helms: The foe once found, they give + Them certain battle. Mounted thus, how brave + Their show! When Carle beholds their faces bright, + Joseran de Provence he calls, the brave + Duke Naimes, also Anselme de Maience: + "In knights so good behooves men to have faith, + And mad indeed who doubts of the event. + Should not the Arabs their approach repent, + Rolland's death I to them will dearly sell." + Responds Duke Naimes:--"May God vouchsafe your prayer." + Aoi. + + + CCXIX. + + Carl calls Rabel and Guineman:--"Seigneurs, + I will that ye should take the place of Counts + Rolland and Olivier--One bear the sword; + The olifant, the other--Be the chiefs + Of fifteen thousand bachelors of France, + In youth and valor famous among all-- + As many more will follow after these, + Conducted by Gebuin and by Laurant." + Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count with speed + And care these hosts in full array dispose. + Let them encounter, great will be the fight. + Aoi. + + + CCXX. + + These first two cohorts were from out the French + Composed; and after those a third was formed: + The vassals of Baviere--Their numbers mount + To thirty thousand knights who ne'er would blench + Before the foe. Beneath the sky live not + A people dearer to the heart of Carle, + Save those of France, the conquerors of realms. + The Count Ogier de Danemarche, the brave, + Will lead--What beauty sits upon their brows! + Aoi. + + + CCXXI. + + Now has the Emp'ror Carle three squadrons; Naimes + The Duke, then forms the fourth with truly brave + Barons from Allemagne, who left La Marche. + These, twenty thousand count, so all report; + Well furnished with good steeds and arms; for dread + Of death in battle they will never yield. + Herman the Duke of Thrace, their chief, will die + Before he guilty proves of cowardice. + Aoi. + + + CCXXII. + + Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count, have formed + The fifth of Normans, twenty thousand men, + Say all the Franks. Their arms are bright, and fleet + Their steeds. These welcome death ere they succumb. + None under Heav'n more valiant in the fight. + Richard the old will lead them on the field,-- + And with his trenchant lance will bravely strike. + Aoi. + + + CCXXIII. + + Composed of Bretons the sixth squadron was: + Full forty thousand chevaliers are they; + Barons in mien when mounted thus, each lance + In rest, its pennon rolled. Their lord is named + Oedun: These led by Nevelon the Count, + Tedbald de Reins and the Marchis Othon-- + "My people guide," said Carle; "in ye my trust." + Aoi. + + + CCXXIV. + + King Carle has now six squadrons on the field. + Barons d'Alverne and Peitevins Duke Naimes + Has mustered in the seventh. They may count + Full forty thousand knights. How good their steeds, + How finely wrought their arms! They stand aloof + Within a shady vale. With his right hand + He gives to these his blessing. Joseran + And Godselmes their appointed leaders are. + Aoi. + + + CCXXV. + + Barons of Frise and Flamengs Naimes enrolled + For the eighth legion. Knights in number more + Than fifty thousand, men who never yield + In battle. Thus the king: "My service these + Will do, Rembalt and Hamon de Galice + Shall lead them forward in all chivalry." + Aoi. + + + CCXXVI. + + Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count equip + The ninth battalion,--brave among the brave. + Those warriors from Lorraine and Burgundy: + In number fifty thousand knights; close helmed, + In hauberk mailed--a stout short-handled lance + Each wields. Should Arabs not from combat shrink, + Lorrains and Bourguignons will deal hard blows; + Tierri Duke of Argonne will be their chief. + Aoi. + + + CCXXVII. + + Barons of France make up the tenth. They are + One hundred thousand captains 'mong the best; + Hardy and stout, of features proud, hair flecked + With gray, and beard all white; in hauberk clad + And lined coat of mails, girt with their swords + Of Spain and France; for shelter, brilliant shields + With various blazons decked, among them known. + They mount their steeds and clamor for the fight: + "Montjoie!" they cry.--Comes now Carlemagne the king! + Geffrei d'Anjou bears up the oriflamme + Called Roman once, but since the day Saint Pierre + Made it a standard, it is named Montjoie. + Aoi. + + + CCXXVIII. + + The Emperor Carle dismounts, prostrates himself + Upon the verdant grass, invoking God + With eyes uplifted toward the rising sun: + "O father true, this day be my defense! + Thy hand it was saved Jonas from the whale + Within whose body he was swallowed up; + Thou sparedst too the king of Niniva; + And Daniel didst thou save from cruel pain + When thrown among the lions. By thy might + Stood the three children safe in burning flames, + This day grant also unto me thy love, + Merciful God! List to my prayer; vouchsafe + That I avenge my nephew, dear Rolland!" + Thus having prayed, he stands erect and marks + His forehead with the sign of might: Then mounts + A fleet-hoofed courser. Naimes and Joseran + Carle's stirrup hold--With buckler on his arm + And trenchant lance in rest; strength, beauty, grace + Sat on his countenance and visage fair. + Then firmly seated on his horse he rides.... + Clarions in rear and front reecho 'round.... + But above all rings out the olifant. + Meantime the French weep ... mourning for Rolland. + Aoi. + + + CCXXIX. + + Most nobly on the Emp'ror Carle proceeds. + His long beard flowing o'er his coat of mail, + And so, for love of him, the knights, whereby, + Are surely known the hundred thousand Franks; + They march through mountains and o'ertopping peaks, + Deep vales, defiles of frightful look. At last + Leaving the narrow pass and wasted land, + They reach the Spanish bourne and make a halt + Amid a plain. Meanwhile to Baligant + Return his vanguard scouts; a Syrian spy + Heralds the news,--"We saw the proud King Carle. + His warriors fierce will never fail their King. + To arms--Within a moment look for fight!" + Baligant cried:--"Good news for our brave hearts! + Sound all your trumps and let my Pagans know!" + Aoi. + + + CCXXX. + + Throughout the camp the drums sonorous beat, + With bellowing horns and blasts of trumpet clear. + The Pagans arm themselves, and least of all + The Emir would th' advance delay--He wears + A hauberk saffron--'broidered round the sides, + And clasps his helm with gold and gems inlaid. + On his left side a sword whereto, in pride, + He gave a name, as Carle had named his sword, + And called the blade his Precieuse. This name + Shall be the battle-cry his warriors shout---- + Hangs from his neck a large and spreading shield + Whose golden boss shines with a crystal ring; + The strap of silk with rosy 'broidery; + The lance he bears is named Mallet, the shaft + Of which so huge, more than a beam it looks, + And steel so strong, beneath its weight a mule + Would groan. Upon his steed mounts Baligant; + His stirrup held by Marcule d'Ultremer. + Mighty the Emir's stride across the selle; + Thin-loined, wide-flanked, deep-chested, all his form + Well molded; broad his shoulders; clear his eye, + His visage haughty, curls around his brow. + White as a summer blossom he appears; + His valor proved by many feats of war. + God! what a Baron, had he Christian faith! + He spurs his horse until the crimson blood + Reddens its flanks, and lightly bounds across + A mighty chasm full fifty feet in width. + The Pagans cry:--"He can defend his marche. + With him none 'mong the French can cross a lance; + Will they or not, their lives are forfeit now. + Yea Carle was mad who did not shun the field." + Aoi. + + + CCXXXI. + + The Emir, Baron-like, wears on his chin + A beard as white as summer flower, and gained + Among the wisest of his creed a fame; + In battle fierce and proud. His son Malprime + Of knightly soul, and from his noble race + Holding a valiant heart and strength of arm, + Addressed his father:--"Sire, to horse! to horse! + Against them! I much wonder whether Carle + We e'er shall meet."--"Yea," answered Baligant, + "Carle is a valorous knight; his glorious deeds + Are writt'n, but now his nephew is no more; + Against our strength no other man's can stand." + Aoi. + + + CCXXXII. + + "Fair son, Malprime," said th' Emir Baligant, + "Yesterday fell in death the noble knight + Rolland, and Olivier the wise and brave, + And the twelve Peers by Carle so dearly loved, + With twenty thousand combatants of France; + Not at a glove's worth hold I all the rest. + Anon my Syrian messenger reports + The emperor's approach; ten armies Carle + Has called in close array; the knight who bears + The olifant, with clear resounding blast + Leads his companions, riding in the front; + Together with them fifteen thousand men + Of France, all bachelors, whom Carle is wont + To call his children. These as many follow + Who for the fiercest combat seem prepared." + Thus said Malprime: "The first stroke I demand!" + Aoi. + + + CCXXXIII. + + "Fair son," said Baligant, "to you I grant + Your full request. Against the French at once + Engage. Let your companions be Torleu + The Persian King, and Dapamort who rules + Leutis. If you subdue the vaunting Carle, + A portion of my kingdom shall you have + In fief from the Orient to Val-Marchis." + Responds Malprime: "To you, O sire, all thanks!" + And stepping forward, he receives the boon. + This land had once been swayed by King Fleuri, + But by Malprime was neither ruled nor seen. + Aoi. + + + CCXXXIV. + + The Emir Baligant rides through the ranks + Of all his host, escorted by his son + Of giant stature, and the Kings Torleu + And Dapamort. In line of battle soon + Stand thirty legions ranked. Countless the knights, + And fifteen thousand strong the weakest band + Can number. First are those of Butentrot, + The next of Misnia: enormous heads + O'ertop the spine enrooted in their backs, + Their shaggy bodies bristling with coarse hair + Like boars; the third, of Nubles and of Blos; + The legion fourth of Bruns and Esclavos; + The fifth of Sorbres and Sorz; from the Ermines + And Mors is formed the sixth; from Jericho + The seventh, and the eighth from those of Nigre. + Of Gros the ninth, and from Balide-la-Fort, + The legion tenth, men never good for aught. + With strongest oaths the Emir swears aloud + By all Mohammed's might and body, "Carle + Of France rides like a madman to his doom, + For combat we shall have; recoils he not, + His brow shall never more wear golden crown." + Aoi. + + + CCXXXV. + + Ten other legions are arrayed: the first + Of Canelieux--ill-visaged people, come + Athwart, from Valfuit; Turks the next; the third + Persians; the fourth, Persians and Pinceneis; + The fifth from Soltras come and from Avers; + Englez and Ormaleis make up the sixth; + The seventh scions are of Samuel's race; + The eighth from Braise; Esclavers form the ninth; + As for the tenth, a horde perverse that came + From Ociant's deserted land--a race + Not loving God the Lord; ne'er shall you hear + Of viler breed: their heathen skin as hard + As iron, whence it is they need no helms + Nor hauberks mailed--in battle treach'rous fiends. + Aoi. + + + CCXXXVI. + + The Emir has himself ten legions armed. + To form the first the giants of Malpruse + Were summoned; to the second came the Huns; + The Hungres made the third; Baldise-la-Lungue + The fourth, and Val-Penuse the fifth; the sixth + Maruse; the seventh Leuz and Astrimonies; + The eighth Argoilles; Clarbone the ninth; the tenth + Formed of the bearded men of Val-Fonde, + A tribe that never would love God. The songs + Of Geste of France thus thirty legions count: + A mighty host where many a trumpet blasts. + Forward, like valiant knights, the Pagans ride. + Aoi. + + + CCXXXVII. + + The Emir, rich and mighty lord, commands + Before him to display his dragon-flag, + The standard of Mahum and Tervagant; + With it Apollo's image, evil god. + Ten Canelieus about him ride, and cry + This sermon with loud voice: "Who by our Gods + Craves to be saved, with the most contrite heart + Must pray!" And then the Pagans low incline + Their heads and chins, with brilliant helms bent down + To earth.--"Now, gluttons, comes your hour to die!" + Cry out the French; "Confusion be your lot. + This day, O God of ours, defend King Carle, + Turn Thou the scale of battle to his side!" + Aoi. + + + CCXXXVIII. + + The Emir, great in wisdom, called his son + And the two kings:--"Seigneurs Barons, in front + Ride ye, and all my legions you shall lead; + Among them only three will I retain, + But of the best: The first shall be the Turks, + The second of the Ormaleis composed, + And third shall be the Giants of Malpruse, + While those of Occiant shall near me stand + To set them on King Carle and on his French. + Should then the Emperor dare measure arms + With me, struck from its trunk his head shall fall-- + No right has he to other fate than this." + Aoi. + + + CCXXXIX. + + Both armies are immense; their squadrons bright. + Between the combatants nor height, nor hill, + Nor vale, nor wood that shelter could afford; + Foe looks on foe across the open field.-- + Said Baligant: "My Saracens, to horse! + Ride forward to the fight!" The battle flag + Is borne on high by Amboire d'Oliferne, + And all shout "Precieuse!" The French exclaim: + "May ye confounded be this day!" Aloud + Rises their cry "Montjoie!" The Emperor Carle + His trumpets bid resound, and the olifant + Whose blast 'whelms all. The Pagans say: "Carle's host + Is fair! Fierce battle shall we have and dire." + Aoi. + + + CCXL. + + Vast is the plain and broad the field. Behold + Those dazzling helms inlaid with gold and gems, + Those shields, those coats of mail with saffron edged, + Those spears and pennons rolled; hearken ye the voice + Of trumpets blowing clear and strong, and hark + The olifant's shrill blast, which sounds the charge. + The Emir calls his brother, Canabeu, + The King of Floredee, who rules the land + As far as Val-Sevree, and points to Carle's + Ten must'ring legions: "See the pride of France + The praised; amid his bearded knights how proud + The Emperor rides! O'er their hauberks stream + Their beards as white as snow upon the frost. + Forsooth! These valiant warriors will strike hard + With lance and sword, and such a fight be ours + As never man has fought." Then Baligant, + Urging his courser further than a man + Can hurl a staff, gave reasons and their proof: + "Come forward, Pagans; follow where I go!" + Brandishing high the shaft of his own lance, + At Carle he levels fair its trenchant steel. + Aoi. + + + CCXLI. + + When Carle the Emir sees, and with him borne + The dragon-standard, all the land o'erswarmed + By Arab warriors, save that space alone + Held by his host, he cries with loudest voice: + "Barons of France, in valor great, we know, + Upon how many fields ye battled! See + The Pagans! Traitors vile and cowards all; + Yea, all their law I count no denier worth. + What care ye, lords, how vast their numbers are? + Let those who wish to combat follow me!" + With pointed spurs he pricks his courser's flanks + And Tecendur four times leaped in the air. + Cry out the French:--"A valiant King is this! + Ride forward, Sire, not one will fail you here." + Aoi. + + + CCXLII. + + Clear was the day and bright the sun. Both hosts + Resplendent, their battalions numberless; + The legions in the van already meet + In fight. Both Counts Rabel and Guineman + On their fleet coursers' necks have loosed the rein! + Sharply they spur, and all the Franks dash on + To deal with trenchant lance their valiant blows. + Aoi. + + + CCXLIII. + + A daring Knight is Count Rabel. With spurs + Of purest gold he pricks his courser's flanks, + Rushing to smite Torleu the Persian King. + No shield, no hauberk can such blow withstand. + The golden spear went through the Pagan's heart + And mid the brambles of the road has struck + Him dead. The French cry out: "Aid us, O God! + With Carle the right; ne'er shall we fail our King!" + Aoi. + + + CCXLIV. + + Guineman 'gainst the King of Leutice tilts; + The Pagan's shield with painted flowers bedecked + Is shattered and his hauberk torn away. + Through his heart's core the pennon of the Knight + Is driven, bearing death,--or laugh or weep + Who may. At such a blow the French exclaim: + "Barons, strike ever! Strike and be not slack + Against the Pagan hordes; to Carle belongs + The right. With us the justice true of God!" + Aoi. + + + CCXLV. + + Malprime upon a steed of purest white + Leads 'gainst the serried legions of the Franks + His men. Abating not his mighty blows, + Corse over corse he heaps. Cries Baligant + In front: "Ye whom my kindness nurtured long, + Barons of mine, see how my son seeks Carle + And with so many knights he measured arms; + A better vassal I shall never claim; + Give him the succor of your trenchant spears." + On rush the Pagans at these words, and deal + Their mortal blows around. Rude is the fight! + The battle marvelous and stern. None such + Was ever seen before or since that hour. + Aoi. + + + CCXLVI. + + The hosts are numberless, the warriors fierce-- + The encount'ring legions fighting hand to hand + Noblest exploits achieved. How many a lance + Asunder broken; God! How many shields + In pieces split, how many hauberks wrenched! + Splinters of shivered armor you might see + Strew all the field, and verdant tender grass + Vermillioned o'er by streams of human gore! + The Emir to his people calls anew: + "Barons strike down these Christian people!"--Hard + And long the fight embittered by revenge + And rage. Ne'er seen before nor will be seen + Again such combat.--To the death they fight. + Aoi. + + + CCXLVII. + + The Emir to his men:--"Strike, Pagans, ye + For this alone have come. Dames sweet and fair + Shall be your guerdon; honors, and domains + I promise all."--The Saracens respond: + "To serve you all we ought."--So hard they fight + That in the hot affray they lose their spears: + Anon a thousand flashing swords and more, + Are drawn, a bloody slaughter to achieve. + He who stood on that field, true battle saw. + Aoi. + + + CCXLVIII. + + The King exhorts his French: "Beloved Seigneurs + And trusty Knights, ye many battles fought + For me, won many a realm, defeated Kings! + Full well I know, rich guerdons have ye earned; + My wealth, lands, blood I owe you. Now to-day + Your sons, your brothers and your kin avenge + Who fell in Ronceval but yesternight! + Well know ye mine the right, with them the wrong." + The French reply:--"Yea, sire, you speak the truth." + The twenty thousand knights who march with Carle + Pledge with one soul their fealty. Dire distress, + E'en death, shall cause not one of these to fail + The Emperor; not on lances they rely, + But with the sword in hand wage doughty strife. + Wondrous the raging battle. Stern the fight. + Aoi. + + + CCXLIX. + + The brave Malprime has pressed his steed across + The field, and carried death among the French. + Duke Naimes glanced proudly toward him, and as knight + In battle fearless met him in career; + He strikes ... tears off his buckler's leathern top, + The hauberk cuts in twain, drives through the heart + The yellow pennon of the spear, and strikes + Him dead mid seven hundred other knights. + Aoi. + + + CCL. + + King Canabeus, the Emir's brother, spurs + His courser on; his crystal-hilted sword + Unsheathes, and deals Naimes' princely helm a blow + Which splits the crest in twain; the trenchant blade + Severs the five strong bands which to his head + Fast bound it; now not worth a denier was + The steel-mailed hood; down to the flesh the casque + Sheer cleft--a fragment falls upon the earth. + The blow was great; the Duke, astounded, reeled, + And would have fallen but for God's help. He clasps + His courser's neck, and should the Pagan deal + Another stroke, the noble Duke has breathed + His last; but to his help comes Carle of France. + Aoi. + + + CCLI. + + In the Duke Naimes' brave heart what agony! + Once more the Pagan raised his arm to strike, + But now King Carle cries:--"Coward, wretch! This blow + Brings thee ill luck!"--And valiantly the King + Rushed on, crushed 'gainst his heart the buckler, rent + The hauberk's top; dead-struck the heathen King + Falls on the ground ... empty the saddle rests. + Aoi. + + + CCLII. + + Deep grief the Emperor felt when there he saw + Duke Naimes sore-wounded and the verdant grass + Streamed o'er by his clear blood, and thereupon + This counsel spoke:--"Fair Naimes, ride close by me; + The wretch who brought you to this cruel fight + Has breathed his last, his body by my lance + Transfixed."--The Duke:--"In you my trust, O sire! + If e'er I live, with knightly service shall + My arm requite this deed!"--Then side by side + In faith and love, with twenty thousand knights + They march. And none of these or flinch or yield. + Aoi. + + + CCLIII. + + The Emir rides across the field, in haste + To deal a blow against Count Guineman. + Athwart his heart he breaks the buckler white + And tears the hauberk's sides apart, disjoints + Two ribs and hurls him from his courser, dead; + Then takes the life of Gebain and Lorant, + And of Richard the old, a Norman Lord. + The Pagans cry: "_Precieuse_ deserves its name! + Barons! strike on, Precieuse will save us all!" + Aoi. + + + CCLIV. + + A noble sight, those knights of Araby, + Of Occiant, of Argoille and of Bascle! + Spears intermix, death to repel or give. + Nathless the French recoil not from the strife. + On either side they fall heaped high. Till eve + The storm of battle raged. Meanwhile the knights + Of France upon that day bore rueful loss; + Nor stayed the carnage till the day was done. + + + CCLV. + + French and Arabian warriors emulate + In valor each the other. Ashen shafts + Break from their brazen heads. Whoso then saw + Those shields defaced, who heard those hauberks white + Resound with blows, this dinning clash of shields + 'Gainst helmets grinding, saw those knights and men + Fall and with dying shrieks roll on the earth, + Of greatest anguish could the memory keep; + So fierce this battle raged. The Emir calls + Upon Apollo, Tervagan, upon + Mahum: "Till now I served you well, O Gods! + And I will have an image made for each, + Molten of purest gold [if ye but help]!" + Before him then his favorite Gemalfin + Appears. He brings ill news. "Sire Baligant + This day brings you mishap; Malprime, your son + Has fall'n! Your brother Canabeus is dead. + Two Franks the glory have of their defeat, + One, Carle the Emperor, I deem, so vast + His fame, his air as _Marchis_ grand, his beard + As white as April blossom!" At these words + The Emir's helm declines, his visage sinks + Low on his breast. Such is his grief, he thinks + Death nears him. Calling Jangleu d'ultremer, + Aoi. + + + CCLVI. + + The Emir said:--"Jangleu, step forth; most wise + Art thou, thy knowledge great; thy counsel e'er + I followed; what the chance of victory + For Franks or Arabs deemest thou?" Jangleu + Responds:--"Death, Baligant, hangs o'er your head. + Ne'ermore your gods can save you; Carle is proud, + And valiant are his men. Ne'er lived a race + So strong in battle; yet call up your knights + Of Occiant, Enfruns and Arabs, Turks + And Giants. Do your duty with all speed." + Aoi. + + + CCLVII. + + The Emir spreads out to the breeze his beard + As hawthorn blossom white; betide what may, + Escape he will not seek, puts to his lips + A trumpet clear, whose blast the Pagans hark, + And fast their cohorts rally on the field. + They bray and neigh, the men of Occiant, + While those of Arguile yelp as curs, and charge + The Franks so rashly, they mow down and break + Their thickest ranks, and by this blow + Throw seven thousand dead upon the field. + Aoi. + + + CCLVIII. + + To Count Ogier is dastardy unknown; + No better vassal buckled hauberk on. + When the French legions broken thus he saw, + He called Tierri Duke of Argonne, Geffrei + D'Anjou and Jozeran the Count, and spoke + These haughty words to Carle:--"Behold our men + By Pagans slaughtered! May God ne'er permit + Your brow to wear its crown if unrevenged + Your shame remains!" None dared reply a word, + But spurring hard their steeds, with loosened reins + They rush in fury 'gainst the Pagan ranks + And strike the foes where'er they can be met. + Aoi. + + + CCLIX. + + Hard strikes Carlemagne the king, hard strikes Duke Naimes, + Ogier de Dannemark, Geffrei d'Anjou, + Who bears the royal pennon. But o'er all + Ogier de Dannemark puts forth his might; + He pricks his courser, drops the rein and falls + Upon the Pagan who the Dragon holds, + So fiercely, that both Dragon and the King's + Own flag is crushed before him on the spot. + When Baligant beholds his gonfalon fall + And Mahum's flag defenseless, in his heart + Springs quick the thought, wrong may be on his side + And right on Carle's. The Pagans [waver now]. + The Emperor Carle around him calls his (Franks): + "Barons, in God's name, do you stand by me?" + Respond the French:--"To ask is an offense. + Accurst be he who deals not glorious strokes!" + Aoi. + + + CCLX. + + The day wears on and vesper draweth nigh. + Christians and Pagans, sword in hand, engage; + And valiant are their chiefs, nor mindless they + Of battle cries:--"Precieuse!" the Emir shouts, + And Carle:--"Montjoie!" the glorious sign. Each knows + The other by the clear sonorous voice, + And 'mid the field encountering, gives and takes + Fierce blows. Each massy shield receives the shock, + And each beneath the boss is cloven in twain + By the strong lance; each hauberk's sides are rent, + But the keen steel in neither reached the flesh; + The horse-girths burst and let the saddles fall. + Dropped to the earth both kings, both to their feet + Quick springing, dauntlessly unsheathed their swords. + And now the mortal combat will not cease + Till Carle or Baligant has fallen in death. + Aoi. + + + CCLXI. + + Carle of sweet France is brave, but the Emir feels + Before him neither fear nor dread. Both wield + Their naked swords and mighty thrusts exchange. + The shields, of wood and leather multifold, + Are rent, the nails torn out, the bosses split; + Each at the other's hauberk aims his blows. + Both combat breast to breast; the showering sparks + Wrap both their helms in fire: no end can be + Till one or other, vanquished, owns his wrong. + Aoi. + + + CCLXII. + + The Emir said: "King Carle, bethink thee yet; + Take better counsel with thy heart, and show + Remorse. Full well I know, by thee my son + Was slain, thou broughtest ruin through my land. + Become my man, I will restore [in fief] + This land [to thee], and to the East, but serve + Me well." And Carle: "Great shame were that to me! + To Heathens I can give no peace nor love.... + Receive the law our God revealed; accept + The faith of Christ.... For e'er my love is thine, + If thou believe in God, the Almighty King." + Said Baligant: "Ill words are these of thine: + [Far better die by the keen edge of sword."] + Aoi. + + + CCLXIII. + + The mighty Emir with a giant's strength + Smites Carle upon the helm of burnished steel, + Which splits in twain beneath the ponderous blow, + Cuts through the silky hair, shears from the scalp + Fully the breadth of a man's palm and more, + Baring the skull. Carle staggers, nearly falls, + But God willed not that he should die or yield. + Saint Gabriel, with eager flight once more + Descends, demanding:--"What ails thee, great King?" + Aoi. + + + CCLXIV. + + When Carle the Angel's heavenly accent hears, + All thought or dread of death forsakes his soul, + And in him springs again his former strength. + The Emir by the royal sword of France + Is struck, his helm all bright with gems is rent, + His cloven skull pours out the brain, his face + Is cleft to the very roots of his white beard: + Dead falls the Pagan past recovery. + Then shouts the King his rallying cry, "Montjoie!" + Hearing his shout, Duke Naimes hastes up, and brings + The charger Tecendur for Carle the great + To mount. The Pagans turn their backs--God wills + They should not stay. The Franks have their desires. + Aoi. + + + CCLXV. + + The Pagans fly--such is the will of God; + Carle leads the French in the pursuit. Thus spake + The King:--"Seigneurs, the time is come to give + Vent to just hatred, and your anguished hearts + Assuage. This very morn I saw your eyes + Streaming with tears." They cry:--"Our vengeance now!" + And vying with each other in exploits, + They deal their mighty blows. But few escape. + Aoi. + + + CCLXVI. + + Amidst the sultry heat and clouds of dust + The Pagans roused, by their foes harassed, + Flee far for Sarraguce. To her high tower + Ascends Queen Bramimunde, where, seeing thus + The routed Arabs fly, she calls her priests + And canons, subjects to false law, by God + Ne'er loved: their crowns no holy tonsure wear. + She cries aloud:--"Aid us, Mahum! Oh aid! + O gentle King! Already vanquished are + Our men, the Emir slain in shameful death!" + On hearing this, Marsile turned to the wall + His covered face, and amid bitter tears + His life departed. Soon the eager fiends + Bore off to judgment his sin-burthened soul. + Aoi. + + + CCLXVII. + + The Pagans all are slain [or put to flight]; + Carle wins the day. The gates of Sarraguce + Are stormed, and well he knows, defense is vain. + He takes the city. All the Christian host + Pour in, and there repose their limbs this night. + The King with snow-white beard is filled with pride: + Queen Bramimunde gives up the citadels; + Ten of these forts are large, and fifty small. + Well helped are they whom God Almighty aids. + Aoi. + + + CCLXVIII. + + The sunny day had passed, the shades of night + Had fallen; bright the moonlight; all the stars + In heaven shone. Carle ruled in Sarraguce. + Unto one thousand men he gave command + To search throughout the city's synagogues + And mosques for all their idols and graved signs + Of gods--these to be broken up and crushed + By ax and iron mallet he ordains. + Nor sorcery nor falsehood left. King Carle + Believes in God and serves him faithfully. + Then bishops bless the fountains, leading up + The Heathens to the blest baptismal Font. + If one perchance resist the King, condemned + Is he to die, or hanged, or burnt, or slain. + More than one hundred thousand are baptized + True Christians; but not so Queen Bramimunde: + A captive shall she go unto sweet France + And be converted by the King through love. + Aoi. + + + CCLXIX. + + Night passes; dawn appears. Carle fortifies + The towers of Sarraguce. One thousand Knights + Of valor proved are left to guard the town + In the Emperor's name. With escort strong he rides, + Followed by Bramimunde a captive, yet + Commands that naught but kindness she receive. + In proud and joyous triumph they return; + Through Nerbune passes the victorious host, + Unto Burdele, the city great and fair. + There on the altar of the Baron Saint + Sevrin, Carle lays the olifant filled full + Of marks and gold, where pilgrims view it still. + Passing upon broad skiffs across Girunde, + To Blaive, he bears the bodies of Rolland + And Olivier, his noble _Compagnon_, + With the Archbishop good and brave. Beneath + White monuments he hath the lords entombed + At Saint-Romain. Here those three Barons lie.... + The French to God and to his saints, once more + Commend them. Carle anew through mounts and vales + Proceeds, nor will he stop until in Aix. + Fast rides he till he nears the marble steps + Of his great palace; and as soon as reached + Its tower, by messengers he summons up + Baiviers and Saisnes, Loherencs and Frisons, + Allemans, Burguignons, Normans, Poitevins, + Bretons, of France the wisest men; for now + Ganelon's trial shall have no delay. + Aoi. + + + + + THE PUNISHMENT OF GANELON. + + + CCLXX. + + From Spain at last the Emperor has returned + To Aix, the noblest seat of France; ascends + His palace, enters in the stately hall.-- + Now comes to greet him the fair [lady] Aude, + And asks the King:--"Where is Rolland the chief + Who pledged his faith to take me for his wife?" + Sore-pained, heart-broken, Carle, with weeping eyes, + Tears his white beard.--"Ah! sister well beloved, + Thou askest me of one who is no more. + A worthier match I give thee in exchange; + Loewis it is. I can not better say. + He is my son, and will protect my realms." + Aude answers:--"To my ear these words are strange. + May God, His saints, His angels, all forfend + That, if Rolland lives not, I still should live." + Her color fades, she falls prone at the feet + Of Carlemagne--dead ... God's mercy on her soul! + Barons of France mourn her with pitying tears. + Aoi. + + + CCLXXI. + + Such was the end of Aude the beautiful. + The King, in hope 'tis but a swoon, with tears + And pity taking both her hands, uplifts + Her form; the head upon the shoulders sinks. + As soon as Carle knows it is death indeed, + Four countesses he summons, bids them bear + In haste the Lady to a nunnery.---- + All night they watched the body, and at morn + Beside a shrine gently she was entombed + With highest honors by the King's command. + Aoi. + + + CCLXXII. + + The Emperor is once more at Aix. There stands + Amid the city 'fore the palace gate, + In iron chains, the traitor Ganelon. + His hands are fastened to a stake with thongs + Of deer-skin by the sergeants who then beat + His body well with staves and heavy cords. + Such treatment was his true desert. He waits + His coming doom, in agony of soul. + Aoi. + + + CCLXXIII. + + Written it is in ancient Geste of France + That Carle then summoned men from all his lands, + Who met at Aix's Chapelle. A solemn feast + It was; some say the Baron Saint Silvestre's. + This day began the plea and history + Of Ganelon who wove the treason's plot. + The Emperor bade them drag him to his bar. + Aoi. + + + CCLXXIV. + + "Seigneurs Barons," said to them Carle the King, + "Judge Ganelon according to the law.-- + Among my host with me to Spain he came; + His craft lost twenty thousand of my Franks; + My nephew, whom ye nevermore shall see, + And Olivier, the brave and courteous Knight. + The traitor sold my brave twelve Peers for gain." + Then Ganelon:--"May I be cursed ere I + Deny. Of wealth and honors had [Rolland] + Deprived me, and for this, his loss and death + I wrought, but treason none I will confess." + Respond the French:--"On this we counsel take." + Aoi. + + + CCLXXV. + + In presence of the King stands Ganelon + With bearing hardy, florid countenance; + Were he but loyal, as a Baron true + His mien. Upon the French and judges he + Has cast a glance, and on his thirty kin + Who 'round him stand; then with firm voice exclaims: + "Barons! Now hear me all, for love of God! + I to the Emperor's host belonged, and served + Him ever in all faith and love. Rolland, + His nephew, hatred bore to me, and fain + Had doomed my days to torture and to death. + As message-bearer I to King Marsile + Was sent, wisdom alone my shield and guard; + I gave defiance to Rolland the bold, + To Olivier and to their comrades all: + By Carle and all his Barons this was heard. + Revenge this was, but treason it was none." + Reply the French:--"All this we well shall weigh." + Aoi. + + + CCLXXVI. + + On seeing the great plea was to commence, + Thirty good Knights were called by Ganelon + Out of his kin, and one among them makes + A speech all others hark: 'tis Pinabel + Of Castel de Sorence, of greatest skill + In words, and apt with reason plausible; + Withal, a vassal brave to guard his arms. + Thus to him Ganelon:--"In you my trust + I place; my life from death, my name from shame + Preserve!"--Said Pinabel:--"Thou shalt be saved. + Dare one French Knight condemn thee to be hanged, + And would the Emperor make us both to meet + In combat, my good sword will his rash word + Believe."--And at his feet falls Ganelon. + Aoi. + + + CCLXXVII. + + Baiviers, Saines, Poitevins, Normans and French + In council met;--Allemans, Tiedeis in great + Array. Those from Alverne most courteous prove + And show more kindness unto Pinabel. + One to the others said:--"To leave this plea + Right would it be, and pray Carl'magne, this once + To pardon Ganelon who, from this day, + Will serve his lord with truer faith and love. + Rolland lies in his grave; nor wealth, nor gold + Restores him to your eyes. This cruel fight + Is folly."--All the Knights approve, save one, + Tierri, a brother of the Lord Geffrei. + Aoi. + + + CCLXXVIII. + + To Carle his Barons come again, and say: + "We pray you, sire, acquit Count Ganelon; + Then will he serve you with true faith and love. + Grant him his life which springs from noble race. + Rolland lies in his grave; ne'er shall we see + Him more, nor treasures e'er can bring him back." + Exclaimed the King: "Vile traitors are ye all!" + Aoi. + + + CLXXIX. + + Now, seeing all will fail him, o'er Carle's eyes + And features gloom descends; by grief o'erwhelmed + He cries: "Unhappy that I am!" Then stood + [Tierri], the brother of Geffrei, the Duke + D'Anjou, before the King. Thin, light of frame, + Hair raven-black, [face] somewhat brown of hue, + In height nor tall nor short; with courtesy + He spake thus to the Emp'ror: "Fair sire King, + Be not cast down. That I have served you well + Ere this, you know. 'Tis my ancestral right + To sit among the judges of the plea. + However guilty was Rolland against + Count Ganelon, his duty to the King + Should have restrained his hate. A treason foul + Ganelon wrought against Rolland; forsworn + In perjury tow'rd you, he lost himself. + For all his crimes his death I here demand, + Death by the cord; his body to the dogs + Be thrown away--the perjurer's just doom. + Should any of his kin deny the words + I speak, this sword of mine girt to my side + Will make them good."--All cry: "Well have you said." + Aoi. + + + CCLXXX. + + Then toward the King advances Pinabel; + Tall, strong and swift, and brave. Strike he but once, + No second blow need follow; to the King + He said: "Sire, unto you belongs this plea. + Command these clamors to be hushed. There stands + Tierri who now his judgment has pronounced. + The lie I give him and to fight defy!" + With this his right hand glove of deer-skin gave + Unto the King who said: "I must receive + Good pledges." Of his kin then thirty knights + Were given as legal sureties of his pledge. + "I also give my pledge," the Emperor said, + "And have them guarded safe till judgment pass." + Aoi. + + + CCLXXXI. + + When Tierri sees that now the fight is near, + He gives the Emperor his right hand glove. + To him the sureties Carle himself provides, + Bids that they bring four benches to the place + Whereon the combatants shall sit. The terms + Are judged by all the others as most fair. + Ogier de Dannemarche was chosen to rule + The lists. Then for their steeds and arms both called. + Aoi. + + + CCLXXXII. + + Both knights now made them ready for the fight, + Were shriven, assoiled, and blessed; a mass have heard, + Communion have received, and richest alms + Bequeathed to monasteries.--Before striking + They both appear.--Gold spurs their heels adorn; + They wear white hauberks light and strong; bright helms + Clasp on their heads, and gold hilt swords are girt + Upon their thighs, and to their necks are bound + Strong quartered shields; they wield in each right hand + A trenchant sword, and on fleet steeds they mount; + Then melt in tears one hundred thousand knights + Who for Rolland's sake wish Tierri well. + Yea--but God knows what way the thing will end. + Aoi. + + + CCLXXXIII. + + Beyond the town of Aix a plain extends: + And here our Barons will the combat try. + Most valiant knights are both; the steeds they ride + Are swift and stout; with spurs in flanks, and freed + Of rein, they dash.--The warriors all their might + And skill unite to strike the surest blow. + Bucklers beneath the shock are torn and crushed, + White hauberks rent in shreds, asunder bursts + Each courser's girth, the saddles, turning, fall. + One hundred thousand men look weeping on.... + Aoi. + + + CCLXXXIV. + + Both knights leap on the earth, and, quick as light, + Stand face to face.--Strong, fiery Pinabel + And Tierri for each other seek. Their steeds + Are fled.--But their gold-hilted swords they wield; + And on the helms of steel they shower such blows + As rashed the thongs. Loudly the knights lament, + And Carle exclaims:--"Show thou the right, O God!" + Aoi. + + + CCLXXXV. + + Cried Pinabel:--"Tierri, surrender thou! + Thy vassal I will be in faith and love, + And to thy pleasure will I yield my wealth; + But let the King forgive Count Ganelon!" + Tierri replied:--"Thy offers all are vain; + Vile treason were it such a pact to make; + But God shall judge us and make plain the right." + Aoi. + + + CCLXXXVI. + + Then Tierri spake:--"I hold thee, Pinabel, + As Baron true, great, strong, of handsome mold; + Thy peers acknowledge thee as valiant knight; + Well, let this combat cease, between the King + And thee a covenant I will strive to make. + On Ganelon such justice shall be done + That future ages shall record the doom." + They grasp again their swords and hew + Each other's gold-encrusted helm with rage + So rash that sparkling fires spurt through the air. + No power will now disjoint the combatants: + The death of one can only close the strife. + Aoi. + + + CCLXXXVII. + + No braver man than Pinabel.--Such blows + He deals on Tierri's helmet of Provence, + That the sparks fly in showers, and, falling, set + The grass ablaze. Then aiming at his foe + His keen-edged brand, down to the brow cuts through + His helm; the blade glides down across his face, + And plows his right cheek with a deep red gash; + Unto his stomach is the haubert rent, + But God protects him, and averts his death. + Aoi. + + + CCLXXXVIII. + + Tierri, on seeing blood gush from his brow + And tinge the grassy field, strikes Pinabel + On his steel-burnished helmet, and cuts through + To the nose-plate. His head is cleft in twain + And gushes forth the brain. This fatal blow + Gives Pinabel his death, and ends the fight. + The French exclaim:--"O wondrous work of God! + Full right it is that Ganelon be hanged + With all his kin who sureties were for him!" + Aoi. + + + CCLXXXIX. + + Tierri had won, and on the battle-field + The Emperor Carle arrived with an escort + Of forty Barons,--Naimes the Duke, Ogier + De Dannemarche, Geffrei d'Anjou, Willalmes + De Blaive.--In close embrace the King has pressed + Tierri, and with his mantle's sables wiped + The warrior's face; then lays his furs aside + And on his shoulders others are arrayed. + Meanwhile the knight, by friendly hands disarmed, + On an Arabian mule is placed, and so + This valorous Baron full of joy returns + To Aix.--Amid the place they all dismount, + And now the sureties must abide their doom. + Aoi. + + + CCXC. + + Carlemagne around him calls his counts and dukes: + "What counsel give ye touching those I kept, + Unto this plea who came for Ganelon + Themselves sworn hostages for Pinabel?" + Respond the French:--"Let none of them survive!"-- + Carle then commands a road-keeper, Basbrun: + "Hang them all up on yon accursed tree! + By this gray beard of mine, I swear, if one + Escape, thou diest but a villain's death!"-- + Answered the man:--"What else but to obey?"-- + Then by a hundred sergeants roughly seized, + Those thirty men are hanged.--Who man betrays + Destroys himself and others drags to death. + Aoi. + + + CCXCI. + + And now have turned away Baiviers, Allemans, + Poitevins, Bretons and Normans; but more + Than all, the French advise that Ganelon + Should die a death of torture. Then they tie + With cords his hands and feet. Four sergeants bring + Four wild and fiery destriers, made mad + By a mare 'mid the field. A fearful end + For Ganelon; bound between them, limb from limb + Is rent away, each nerve and muscle stretched + And torn. The clear blood streams upon the green. + Thus perished Ganelon by a felon's death.... + Traitors of evil deeds must never boast. + Aoi. + + + CCXCII. + + When the Emperor Carle had wreaked his full revenge, + He called the bishops from the realms of France, + And from Baviere, and those of Alemaigne: + "Now in my [court] have I a captive, sprung + From noble race. Such sermons has she heard, + So good examples seen, she will believe + In the true God, and Christian faith embrace. + Baptize her so that He may save her soul; + God-mothers choose her of our noblest dames." + With a great company the Baths at Aix + Were thronged, and soon before the holy Fonts + The Queen received the name of Juliane: + Henceforth a Christian holding fast the Truth. + Aoi. + + + + + THE END OF THE CHANSON. + + + CCXCIII. + + But when the Emperor had made complete + His justice and his heavy wrath assuaged, + And brought Queen Bramimunde to Christian faith, + The day was over and the night had fall'n. + The King sought rest within his vaulted room. + Saint Gabriel brought him word from God and said: + "Carle, of thy empire summon all the hosts + For swiftest marching to the land of Bire; + So shalt thou succor King Vivien in Imphe, + The city compassed by the Pagan foe. + The Christians look to thee and cry for help."-- + Will has he none to go, the King, but moans:-- + "O, God," quoth he, "so troublous is my life!"-- + Whereat he weeps, and tears his hoary beard. + Aoi. + + * * * * * + + Thus endeth here the Geste Turoldus sang. + + * * * * * + +[Footnotes] + +[1] Molted. Because in that condition, better for hunting. + +[2] _Pallies._ A square piece of silk on which the knights used +to sit. (From Pallium). + +[3] _Tables._ In the romances of the Middle Ages the game of +tables means tric-trac, chess, checkers, etc. + +[4] Bezants. A Byzantine coin. + +[5] A sort of undergarment made of gold and silk brocade +worn in time of war under the coat of mail, and in time of +peace under the mantle of fur. In the latter case it was of silk. + + * * * * * + +GLOSSARY. + + +Of places and words which may present some difficulty as regards origin +and meaning on account of their ancient orthography. For more complete +information see Leon Gautier's seventh edition of the text. + +The numbers indicate stanzas in this edition. + + +AIX, capital of Charlemagne's empire. 3. + +ALMAZOUR, Arab origin, a title. 69. + +ALVERNE and ALFERNE, Auvergne, French Province. 224. + +AMIRALZ, Admiral. 78. + +AMURAFLE, from Emir, admiral. 98. + +ARGONNE, city of France (Champagne). 227. + +ASPRE, defile in the Pyrenees. 88. + +ASTRIMUNIES, Pagan tribes. 236. + +BALAGUER, Spanish Arabian city. 73. + +BASCLE, Basque--W. Foester, 280. 254. + +BELFERNE, Pagan kingdom. 66. + +BELNE, Beaune, French city (Burgundy). 144. + +BEVUM, man's name--Teutonic. 144. + +BIRE and IMPHE, unknown. 293. + +BLAVE, Blaye, near Bordeaux, France. 269. + +BLOS, Pagan tribe. 234. + +BRIGAL, Saracen country. 97. + +BRUNS and ESCLAVOS, Teutonic etymology. 234 + +BRUISE, Prussia. 235. + +{BUGRE, Bulgarian, and +{BUGUERIE, Bulgaria. 174, 211. + +BURDELE, Bordeaux. 101. + +BUTENTROT, country supposed to be situated in Cappadocia. 234. + See P. Meyer in Romania, VII., p. 335. + +CALIFERNE, unknown Pagan country. 211. + +CANELIEUS, 236--said to be Chananians by P. Meyer in Romania, VI., + p. 477. + +CICLATON, Arab silk material. 69. + +COMMIBLES, supposed city of Spain. 14. + +CLARBONE, imaginary Pagan place. 236. + +DANEMARCHE, Denmark. 220.--Etymology, Dania and Marcha, limit. + +DIGUN, Dijon, city of France. 144. + +ENFRUNS, unknown Eastern Pagans. 256. + +ENGLEZ, Sclavonic tribes. 235. + +ERMINES, Pagan tribes. 234. + +FALDSTOOL, an arm-chair. 32. + +FLOREDEE, doubtful Pagan country. 240. + +GARNAILLE, unknown. 145. + +GASCUIGNE, Gascony, Gascuin, Gascon. 65. + +GENNES, Genoa. 165. + +GLAZA, Galaza, and adj. Galazin, place, and stuff made of silk + and gold; from Asia. 215. + +GROS, Pagans unknown. 234. + +GUITSAND, town near Calais, 111. + +HALTOIE, Spanish city. 14. + +IMPHE, unknown. 293. + +LEUTIS, believed to be Poland. 244. See G. Paris in Romania, II., + p. 331. + +LOHENRENGS, from Lorraine. 269. + +MAELGUT, a Pagan's name. 154. + +MALPRUSE and MALPREISE, Pagan region. 236. + +MARBRISE and MARBRUSE, unknown places. 193. + +MARCHIS, old, for Marquis. 50. + +MISMIA, unknown. 234. + +MONTJOIE.--Etym. Mons gaudii, name of Carle's standard; + the oriflamme and French war-cry. 93. See note in Gautier's + seventh edition, p. 278. + +MORS, Moors. 234. + +NERBUNE, Narbone, city, South of France. 269. + +NIGRES, perhaps _Nigri_. 234. + +NOPLES, supposed city of Spain. 14. + +NUBLES, a Pagan tribe, Nubians. 234. + +OCCIANT, Pagan country. (?) 235. + +OLIFANT, Roland's ivory horn. Etym. _Elephantus_. 85. + +ORMALEIS, unknown. 238. See Romania, II., and Gautier's + Glossary. + +OYEZ, of French; hear! 2. + +PEITEVINS for Poitevins, of Poitou. 224. + +PINCENEIS, Lat. _Pincinnati_; see Romania, II., p. 331-335, + and Gautier's Glossary. + +PINE, Pina, city of Spain. 14. + +POUILLE, Apulia. 29. + +PRIME, Arabian Province. 78. + +PUILLANIE, Poland. 174. + +REINS, Rheims, in Champagne. 12. + +ROSNE, River Rhone. 121. + +SAISNES, Saxons. 269. + +SAINT-ROMAIN, church of Blaye, near Bordeaux. 269. + +SAINTS (les), Les Saints of Cologne (Gautier); others say + Sens, a city of Western France. 111. + +SEBILE, Sevilla, Spain. 14. + +SEIGNEURS, French for Lords. 2, &c. + +SIZRE, now Cisa; Etym. Caesaris, place of the defiles, near + Ronceval. 45. + +SOLTRAS and AVERS, Pagan tribes. 235. + +SORBRES and SORZ, Pagan tribes. 234. + +SORENCE, unknown. 276. + +TIEDEIS, Deutch, German. 277. + +TUELE, city in Navarra. 14. + +TURTELUSE, Tortosa, Spain. 75. + +VAL-TENEBRE, Spanish City. 54. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LA CHANSON DE ROLAND*** + + +******* This file should be named 23819.txt or 23819.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/8/1/23819 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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