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.