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.

THE END