The Roland Legends
Charles the Great, King of the Franks, world-famous as Charlemagne,
won his undying renown by innumerable victories for France and for the
Church. Charles as the head of the Holy Roman Empire and the Pope as
the head of the Holy Catholic Church equally dominated the imagination
of the mediaeval world. Yet in romance Charlemagne's fame has been
eclipsed by that of his illustrious nephew and vassal, Roland, whose
crowning glory has sprung from his last conflict and heroic death in
the valley of Roncesvalles.
"Oh for a blast of that dread horn,
On Fontarabian echoes borne,
That to King Charles did come,
When Roland brave, and Olivier,
And every paladin and peer
On Roncesvalles died."
_Scott._
Briefly, the historical facts are these: In A.D. 778 Charles was
returning from an expedition into Spain, where the dissensions of the
Moorish rulers had offered him the chance of extending his borders
while he fought for the Christian faith against the infidel. He had
taken Pampeluna, but had been checked before Saragossa, and had not
ventured beyond the Ebro; he was now making his way home through the
Pyrenees. When the main army had safely traversed the passes, the rear
was suddenly attacked by an overwhelming body of mountaineers, Gascons
and Basques, who, resenting the violation of their mountain
sanctuaries, and longing for plunder, drove the Frankish rearguard
into a little valley (now marked by the chapel of Ibagneta and still
called Roncesvalles), and there slew every man.
[Illustration: Charlemagne
Stella Langdale]
The Historic Basis
The whole romantic legend of Roland has sprung from the simple words
in a contemporary chronicle, "In which battle was slain Roland,
prefect of the marches of Brittany."[12]
This same fight of Roncesvalles was the theme of an archaic poem, the
"Song of Altobiscar," written about 1835. In it we hear the exultation
of the Basques as they see the knights of France fall beneath their
onslaughts. The Basques are on the heights--they hear the trampling of
a mighty host which throngs the narrow valley below: its numbers are
as countless as the sands of the sea, its movement as resistless as
the waves which roll those sands on the shore. Awe fills the bosoms of
the mountain tribesmen, but their leader is undaunted. "Let us unite
our strong arms!" he cries aloud. "Let us tear our rocks from their
beds and hurl them upon the enemy! Let us crush and slay them all!" So
said, so done: the rocks roll plunging into the valley, slaying whole
troops in their descent. "And what mangled flesh, what broken bones,
what seas of blood! Soon of that gallant band not one is left alive;
night covers all, the eagles devour the flesh, and the bones whiten in
this valley to all eternity!"
A Spanish Version
So runs the "Song of Altobiscar." But Spain too claims part of the
honour of the day of Roncesvalles. True, Roland was in reality
slain by Basques, not by Spaniards; but Spain, eager to share the
honour, has glorified a national hero, Bernardo del Carpio, who, in
the Spanish legend, defeats Roland in single combat and wins the day.
The Italian Orlando
Italy has laid claim to Roland, and in the guise of Orlando, Orlando
Furioso, Orlando Innamorato, has made him into a fantastic, chivalrous
knight, a hero of many magical adventures.
Roland in French Literature
Noblest of all, however, is the development of the "Roland Saga" in
French literature; for, even setting aside much legendary lore and
accumulated tradition, the Roland of the old epic is a perfect hero of
the early days of feudalism, when chivalry was in its very beginnings,
before the cult of the Blessed Virgin Mary added the grace of courtesy
to its heroism. Evidently Roland had grown in importance before the
"Chanson de Roland" took its present form, for we find the rearguard
skirmish magnified into a great battle, which manifestly contains
recollections of later Saracen invasions and Gascon revolts. As befits
the hero of an epic, Roland is now of royal blood, the nephew of the
great emperor, who has himself increased in age and splendour; this
heroic Roland can obviously only be overcome by the treachery of one
of the Franks themselves, so there appears the traitor Ganelon (a
Romance version of a certain Danilo or Nanilo), who is among the
Twelve Peers what Judas was among the Apostles; the mighty Saracens,
not the insignificant Basques, are now the victors; and the vengeance
taken by Charlemagne on the Saracens and on the traitor is boldly
added to history, which leaves the disaster unavenged. Thus the bare
fact was embroidered over gradually by the historical imagination,
aided by patriotism, until a really national hero was evolved out of
an obscure Breton count.
The "Chanson de Roland"
The "Song of Roland," as we now have it, seems to be a late version of
an Anglo-Norman poem, made by a certain Turoldus or Thorold; and it
must bear a close resemblance to that chant which fired the soldiers
of William the Norman at Hastings, when
"Taillefer, the noble singer,
On his war-horse swift and fiery,
Rode before the Norman host;
Tossed his sword in air and caught it,
Chanted loud the death of Roland,
And the peers who perished with him
At the pass of Roncevaux."
_Roman de Rou._
The "Song of Roland" bears an intimate relation to the development of
European thought, and the hero is doubly worth our study as hero and
as type of national character. Thus runs the story:
The Story
The Emperor Charles the Great, Carolus Magnus, or Charlemagne, had
been for seven years in Spain, and had conquered it from sea to sea,
except Saragossa, which, among its lofty mountains, and ruled by its
brave king Marsile, had defied his power. Marsile still held to his
idols, Mahomet, Apollo, and Termagaunt, dreading in his heart the day
when Charles would force him to become a Christian.
The Saracen Council
The Saracen king gathered a council around him, as he reclined on a
seat of blue marble in the shade of an orchard, and asked the advice
of his wise men.
"'My lords,' quoth he, 'you know our grievous state.
The mighty Charles, great lord of France the fair,
Has spread his hosts in ruin o'er our land.
No armies have I to resist his course,
No people have I to destroy his hosts.
Advise me now, what counsel shall I take
To save my race and realm from death and shame?'"
Blancandrin's Advice
A wily emir, Blancandrin, of Val-Fonde, was the only man who replied.
He was wise in counsel, brave in war, a loyal vassal to his lord.
"'Fear not, my liege,' he answered the sad king.
'Send thou to Charles the proud, the arrogant,
And offer fealty and service true,
With gifts of lions, bears, and swift-foot hounds,
Seven hundred camels, falcons, mules, and gold--
As much as fifty chariots can convey--
Yea, gold enough to pay his vassals all.
Say thou thyself will take the Christian faith,
And follow him to Aix to be baptized.
If he demands thy hostages, then I
And these my fellows give our sons to thee,
To go with Charles to France, as pledge of truth.
Thou wilt not follow him, thou wilt not yield
To be baptized, and so our sons must die;
But better death than life in foul disgrace,
With loss of our bright Spain and happy days.'
So cried the pagans all; but Marsile sat
Thoughtful, and yet at last accepted all."
An Embassy to Charlemagne
Now King Marsile dismissed the council with words of thanks, only
retaining near him ten of his most famous barons, chief of whom was
Blancandrin; to them he said: "My lords, go to Cordova, where Charles
is at this time. Bear olive-branches in your hands, in token of peace,
and reconcile me with him. Great shall be your reward if you succeed.
Beg Charles to have pity on me, and I will follow him to Aix within a
month, will receive the Christian law, and become his vassal in love
and loyalty."
"Sire," said Blancandrin, "you shall have a good treaty!"
The ten messengers departed, bearing olive-branches in their hands,
riding on white mules, with reins of gold and saddles of silver, and
came to Charles as he rested after the siege of Cordova, which he had
just taken and sacked.
Reception by Charlemagne
Charlemagne was in an orchard with his Twelve Peers and fifteen
thousand veteran warriors of France. The messengers from the heathen
king reached this orchard and asked for the emperor; their gaze
wandered over groups of wise nobles playing at chess, and groups of
gay youths fencing, till at last it rested on a throne of solid gold,
set under a pine-tree and overshadowed with eglantine. There sat
Charles, the king who ruled fair France, with white flowing beard and
hoary head, stately of form and majestic of countenance. No need was
there of usher to cry: "Here sits Charles the King."
[Illustration: "Here sits Charles the King"]
The ambassadors greeted Charlemagne with all honour, and Blancandrin
opened the embassy thus:
"Peace be with you from God the Lord of Glory whom you adore! Thus
says the valiant King Marsile: He has been instructed in your faith,
the way of salvation, and is willing to be baptized; but you have been
too long in our bright Spain, and should return to Aix. There will
he follow you and become your vassal, holding the kingdom of Spain at
your hand. Gifts have we brought from him to lay at your feet, for he
will share his treasures with you!"
He is Perplexed
Charlemagne raised his hands in thanks to God, but then bent his head
and remained thinking deeply, for he was a man of prudent mind,
cautious and far-seeing, and never spoke on impulse. At last he said
proudly: "Ye have spoken fairly, but Marsile is my greatest enemy: how
can I trust your words?"
Blancandrin replied: "He will give hostages, twenty of our noblest
youths, and my own son will be among them. King Marsile will follow
you to the wondrous springs of Aix-la-Chapelle, and on the feast of
St. Michael will receive baptism in your court."
Thus the audience ended. The messengers were feasted in a pavilion
raised in the orchard, and the night passed in gaiety and
good-fellowship.
He Consults his Twelve Peers
In the early morning Charlemagne arose and heard Mass; then, sitting
beneath a pine-tree, he called the Twelve Peers to council. There came
the twelve heroes, chief of them Roland and his loyal brother-in-arms
Oliver; there came Archbishop Turpin; and, among a thousand loyal
Franks, there came Ganelon the traitor. When all were seated in due
order Charlemagne began:
"My lords and barons, I have received an embassy of peace from King
Marsile, who sends me great gifts and offers, but on condition that I
leave Spain and return to Aix. Thither will he follow me, to receive
the Faith, become a Christian and my vassal. Is he to be trusted?"
"Let us beware," cried all the Franks.
Roland Speaks
Roland, ever impetuous, now rose without delay, and spoke: "Fair uncle
and sire, it would be madness to trust Marsile. Seven years have we
warred in Spain, and many cities have I won for you, but Marsile has
ever been treacherous. Once before when he sent messengers with
olive-branches you and the French foolishly believed him, and he
beheaded the two counts who were your ambassadors to him. Fight
Marsile to the end, besiege and sack Saragossa, and avenge those who
perished by his treachery."
Ganelon Objects
Charlemagne looked out gloomily from under his heavy brows, he twisted
his moustache and pulled his long white beard, but said nothing, and
all the Franks remained silent, except Ganelon, whose hostility to
Roland showed clearly in his words:
"Sire, blind credulity were wrong and foolish, but follow up your own
advantage. When Marsile offers to become your vassal, to hold Spain at
your hand and to take your faith, any man who urges you to reject such
terms cares little for our death! Let pride no longer be your
counsellor, but hear the voice of wisdom."
The aged Duke Naimes, the Nestor of the army, spoke next, supporting
Ganelon: "Sire, the advice of Count Ganelon is wise, if wisely
followed. Marsile lies at your mercy; he has lost all, and only begs
for pity. It would be a sin to press this cruel war, since he offers
full guarantee by his hostages. You need only send one of your barons
to arrange the terms of peace."
This advice pleased the whole assembly, and a murmur was heard: "The
Duke has spoken well."
"Who Shall Go to Saragossa?"
"'My lords and peers, whom shall we send
To Saragossa to Marsile?'
'Sire, let me go,' replied Duke Naimes;
'Give me your glove and warlike staff.'
'No!' cried the king, 'my counsellor,
Thou shalt not leave me unadvised--
Sit down again; I bid thee stay.'
"'My lords and peers, whom shall we send
To Saragossa to Marsile?'
'Sire, I can go,' quoth Roland bold.
'That canst thou not,' said Oliver;
'Thy heart is far too hot and fierce--
I fear for thee. But I will go,
If that will please my lord the King.'
'No!' cried the king, 'ye shall not go.
I swear by this white flowing beard
No peer shall undertake the task.'
"'My lords and peers, whom shall we send?'
Archbishop Turpin rose and spoke:
'Fair sire, let me be messenger.
Your nobles all have played their part;
Give me your glove and warlike staff,
And I will show this heathen king
In frank speech how a true knight feels.'
But wrathfully the king replied:
'By this white beard, thou shalt not go!
Sit down, and raise thy voice no more.'"
Roland Suggests Ganelon
"Knights of France," quoth Charlemagne, "choose me now one of your
number to do my errand to Marsile, and to defend my honour valiantly,
if need be."
"Ah," said Roland, "then it must be Ganelon, my stepfather; for
whether he goes or stays, you have none better than he!"
This suggestion satisfied all the assembly, and they cried: "Ganelon
will acquit himself right manfully. If it please the King, he is the
right man to go."
Charlemagne thought for a moment, and then, raising his head, beckoned
to Ganelon. "Come hither, Ganelon," he said, "and receive this glove
and staff, which the voice of all the Franks gives to thee."
Ganelon is Angry
"No," replied Ganelon, wrathfully. "This is the work of Roland, and I
will never forgive him, nor his friends, Oliver and the other Peers.
Here, in your presence, I bid them defiance!"
"Your anger is too great," said Charlemagne; "you will go, since it is
my will also."
"Yes, I shall go, but I shall perish as did your two former
ambassadors. Sire, forget not that your sister is my wife, and that
Baldwin, my son, will be a valiant champion if he lives. I leave to
him my lands and fiefs. Sire, guard him well, for I shall see him no
more."
"Your heart is too tender," said Charlemagne. "You must go, since such
is my command."
He Threatens Roland
Ganelon, in rage and anguish, glared round the council, and his face
drew all eyes, so fiercely he looked at Roland.
"Madman," said he, "all men know that I am thy stepfather, and for
this cause thou hast sent me to Marsile, that I may perish! But if I
return I will be revenged on thee."
"Madness and pride," Roland retorted, "have no terrors for me; but
this embassy demands a prudent man not an angry fool: if Charles
consents, I will do his errand for thee."
"Thou shalt not. Thou art not my vassal, to do my work, and Charles,
my lord, has given me his commands. I go to Saragossa; but there will
I find some way to vent my anger."
Now Roland began to laugh, so wild did his stepfather's threats seem,
and the laughter stung Ganelon to madness. "I hate you," he cried to
Roland; "you have brought this unjust choice on me." Then, turning to
the emperor: "Mighty lord, behold me ready to fulfil your commands."
But is Sent
"Fair Lord Ganelon," spoke Charlemagne, "bear this message to Marsile.
He must become my vassal and receive holy baptism. Half of Spain shall
be his fief; the other half is for Count Roland. If Marsile does not
accept these terms I will besiege Saragossa, capture the town, and
lead Marsile prisoner to Aix, where he shall die in shame and torment.
Take this letter, sealed with my seal, and deliver it into the king's
own right hand."
Thereupon Charlemagne held out his right-hand glove to Ganelon, who
would fain have refused it. So reluctant was he to grasp it that the
glove fell to the ground. "Ah, God!" cried the Franks, "what an evil
omen! What woes will come to us from this embassy!" "You shall hear
full tidings," quoth Ganelon. "Now, sire, dismiss me, for I have no
time to lose." Very solemnly Charlemagne raised his hand and made the
sign of the Cross over Ganelon, and gave him his blessing, saying,
"Go, for the honour of Jesus Christ, and for your Emperor." So
Ganelon took his leave, and returned to his lodging, where he prepared
for his journey, and bade farewell to the weeping retainers whom he
left behind, though they begged to accompany him. "God forbid," cried
he, "that so many brave knights should die! Rather will I die alone.
You, sirs, return to our fair France, greet well my wife, guard my son
Baldwin, and defend his fief!"
He Plots with Marsile's Messengers
Then Ganelon rode away, and shortly overtook the ambassadors of the
Moorish king, for Blancandrin had delayed their journey to accompany
him, and the two envoys began a crafty conversation, for both were
wary and skilful, and each was trying to read the other's mind. The
wily Saracen began:
"'Ah! what a wondrous king is Charles!
How far and wide his conquests range!
The salt sea is no bar to him:
From Poland to far England's shores
He stretches his unquestioned sway;
But why seeks he to win bright Spain?'
'Such is his will,' quoth Ganelon;
'None can withstand his mighty power!'
"'How valiant are the Frankish lords
But how their counsel wrongs their king
To urge him to this long-drawn strife--
They ruin both themselves and him!'
'I blame not them,' quoth Ganelon,
'But Roland, swollen with fatal pride.
Near Carcassonne he brought the King
An apple, crimson streaked with gold:
"Fair sire," quoth he, "here at your feet
I lay the crowns of all the kings."
If he were dead we should have peace!'
"'How haughty must this Roland be
Who fain would conquer all the earth!
Such pride deserves due chastisement!
What warriors has he for the task?'
'The Franks of France,' quoth Ganelon,
'The bravest warriors 'neath the sun!
For love alone they follow him
(Or lavish gifts which he bestows)
To death, or conquest of the world!'"
[Illustration: "Ganelon rode away"]
To Betray Roland
The bitterness in Ganelon's tone at once struck: Blancandrin, who cast
a glance at him and saw the Frankish envoy trembling with rage. He
suddenly addressed Ganelon in whispered tones: "Hast thou aught
against the nephew of Charles? Wouldst thou have revenge on Roland?
Deliver him to us, and King Marsile will share with thee all his
treasures." Ganelon was at first horrified, and refused to hear more,
but so well did Blancandrin argue and so skilfully did he lay his
snare that before they reached Saragossa and came to the presence of
King Marsile it was agreed that Roland should be destroyed by their
means.
Ganelon with the Saracens
Blancandrin and his fellow ambassadors conducted Ganelon into the
presence of the Saracen king, and announced Charlemagne's peaceable
reception of their message and the coming of his envoy. "Let him
speak: we listen," said Marsile.
Ganelon then began artfully: "Peace be to you in the name of the Lord
of Glory whom we adore! This is the message of King Charles: You shall
receive the Holy Christian Faith, and Charles will graciously grant
you one-half of Spain as a fief; the other half he intends for his
nephew Roland (and a haughty partner you will find him!). If you
refuse he will take Saragossa, lead you captive to Aix, and give you
there to a shameful death."
Marsile's Anger
Marsile's anger was so great at this insulting message that he sprang
to his feet, and would have slain Ganelon with his gold-adorned
javelin; but he, seeing this, half drew his sword, saying:
"'Sword, how fair and bright thou art!
Come thou forth and view the light.
Long as I can wield thee here
Charles my Emperor shall not say
That I die alone, unwept.
Ere I fall Spain's noblest blood
Shall be shed to pay my death.'"
The Saracen Council
However, strife was averted, and Ganelon received praise from all for
his bold bearing and valiant defiance of his king's enemy. When quiet
was restored he repeated his message and delivered the emperor's
letter, which was found to contain a demand that the caliph, Marsile's
uncle, should be sent, a prisoner, to Charles, in atonement for the
two ambassadors foully slain before. The indignation of the Saracen
nobles was intense, and Ganelon was in imminent danger, but, setting
his back against a pine-tree, he prepared to defend himself to the
last. Again the quarrel was stayed, and Marsile, taking his most
trusted leaders, withdrew to a secret council, whither, soon,
Blancandrin led Ganelon. Here Marsile excused his former rage, and, in
reparation, offered Ganelon a superb robe of marten's fur, which was
accepted; and then began the tempting of the traitor. First demanding
a pledge of secrecy, Marsile pitied Charlemagne, so aged and so weary
with rule. Ganelon praised his emperor's prowess and vast power.
Marsile repeated his words of pity, and Ganelon replied that as long
as Roland and the Twelve Peers lived Charlemagne needed no man's pity
and feared no man's power; his Franks, also, were the best living
warriors. Marsile declared proudly that he could bring four hundred
thousand men against Charlemagne's twenty thousand French; but Ganelon
dissuaded him from any such expedition.
Ganelon Plans Treachery
"'Not thus will you overcome him;
Leave this folly, turn to wisdom.
Give the Emperor so much treasure
That the Franks will be astounded.
Send him, too, the promised pledges,
Sons of all your noblest vassals.
To fair France will Charles march homeward,
Leaving (as I will contrive it)
Haughty Roland in the rearguard.
Oliver, the bold and courteous,
Will be with him: slay those heroes,
And King Charles will fall for ever!'
'Fair Sir Ganelon,' quoth Marsile,
'How must I entrap Count Roland?'
'When King Charles is in the mountains
He will leave behind his rearguard
Under Oliver and Roland.
Send against them half your army:
Roland and the Peers will conquer,
But be wearied with the struggle--
Then bring on your untired warriors.
France will lose this second battle,
And when Roland dies, the Emperor
Has no right hand for his conflicts--
Farewell all the Frankish greatness!
Ne'er again can Charles assemble
Such a mighty host for conquest,
And you will have peace henceforward!'"
Welcomed by Marsile
Marsile was overjoyed at the treacherous advice and embraced and
richly rewarded the felon knight. The death of Roland and the Peers
was solemnly sworn between them, by Marsile on the book of the Law of
Mahomet, by Ganelon on the sacred relics in the pommel of his sword.
Then, repeating the compact between them, and warning Ganelon against
treason to his friends, Marsile dismissed the treacherous envoy who
hastened to return and put his scheme into execution.
Ganelon Returns to Charles
In the meantime Charles had retired as far as Valtierra, on his way to
France, and there Ganelon found him, and delivered the tribute, the
keys of Saragossa, and a false message excusing the absence of the
caliph. He had, so Marsile said, put to sea with three hundred
thousand warriors who would not renounce their faith, and all had been
drowned in a tempest, not four leagues from land. Marsile would obey
King Charles's commands in all other respects. "Thank God!" cried
Charlemagne. "Ganelon, you have done well, and shall be well
rewarded!"
The French Camp. Charles Dreams
Now the whole Frankish army marched towards the Pyrenees, and, as
evening fell, found themselves among the mountains, where Roland
planted his banner on the topmost summit, clear against the sky, and
the army encamped for the night; but the whole Saracen host had also
marched and encamped in a wood not far from the Franks. Meanwhile, as
Charlemagne slept he had dreams of evil omen. Ganelon, in his dreams,
seized the imperial spear of tough ash-wood, and broke it, so that
the splinters flew far and wide. In another dream he saw himself at
Aix attacked by a leopard and a bear, which tore off his right arm; a
greyhound came to his aid but he knew not the end of the fray, and
slept unhappily.
A Morning Council
When morning light shone, and the army was ready to march, the
clarions of the host sounded gaily, and Charlemagne called his barons
around him.
"'My lords and Peers, ye see these strait defiles:
Choose ye to whom the rearguard shall be given.'
'My stepson Roland,' straight quoth Ganelon.
''Mid all the Peers there is no braver knight:
In him will lie the safety of your host.'
Charles heard in wrath, and spoke in angry tones:
'What fiendish rage has prompted this advice?
Who then will go before me in the van?'
The traitor tarried not, but answered swift:
'Ogier the Dane will do that duty best.'"
When Roland heard that he was to command the rearguard he knew not
whether to be pleased or not. At first he thanked Ganelon for naming
him. "Thanks, fair stepfather, for sending me to the post of danger.
King Charles shall lose no man nor horse through my neglect." But when
Ganelon replied sneeringly, "You speak the truth, as I know right
well," Roland's gratitude turned to bitter anger, and he reproached
the villain. "Ah, wretch! disloyal traitor! thou thinkest perchance
that I, like thee, shall basely drop the glove, but thou shalt see!
Sir King, give me your bow. I will not let my badge of office fall, as
thou didst, Ganelon, at Cordova. No evil omen shall assail the host
through me."
Roland for the Rearguard
Charlemagne was very loath to grant his request, but on the advice of
Duke Naimes, most prudent of counsellors, he gave to Roland his bow,
and offered to leave with him half the army. To this the champion
would not agree, but would only have twenty thousand Franks from fair
France. Roland clad himself in his shining armour, laced on his lordly
helmet, girt himself with his famous sword Durendala, and hung round
his neck his flower-painted shield; he mounted his good steed
Veillantif, and took in hand his bright lance with the white pennon
and golden fringe; then, looking like the Archangel St. Michael, he
rode forward, and easy it was to see how all the Franks loved him and
would follow where he led. Beside him rode the famous Peers of France,
Oliver the bold and courteous, the saintly Archbishop Turpin, and
Count Gautier, Roland's loyal vassal. They chose carefully the twenty
thousand French for the rearguard, and Roland sent Gautier with one
thousand of their number to search the mountains. Alas! they never
returned, for King Almaris, a Saracen chief, met and slew them all
among the hills; and only Gautier, sorely wounded and bleeding to
death, returned to Roland in the final struggle.
Charlemagne spoke a mournful "Farewell" to his nephew and the
rearguard, and the mighty army began to traverse the gloomy ravine
through the dark masses of rocks, and to emerge on the other side of
the Pyrenees. All wept, most for joy to set eyes on that dear land of
fair France, which for seven years they had not seen; but Charles,
with a sad foreboding of disaster, hid his eyes beneath his cloak and
wept in silence.
Charles is Sad
"What grief weighs on your mind, sire?" asked the wise Duke Naimes,
riding up beside Charlemagne.
"I mourn for my nephew. Last night in a vision I saw Ganelon break my
trusty lance--this Ganelon who has sent Roland to the rear. And now I
have left Roland in a foreign land, and, O God! if I lose him I shall
never find his equal!" And the emperor rode on in silence, seeing
naught but his own sad foreboding visions.
The Saracen Pursuit
Meanwhile King Marsile, with his countless Saracens, had pursued so
quickly that the van of the heathen army soon saw waving the banners
of the Frankish rear. Then as they halted before the strife began, one
by one the nobles of Saragossa, the champions of the Moors, advanced
and claimed the right to measure themselves against the Twelve Peers
of France. Marsile's nephew received the royal glove as chief
champion, and eleven Saracen chiefs took a vow to slay Roland and
spread the faith of Mahomet.
"Death to the rearguard! Roland shall die! Death to the Peers! Woe to
France and Charlemagne! We will bring the Emperor to your feet! You
shall sleep at St. Denis! Down with fair France!" Such were their
confident cries as they armed for the conflict; and on their side no
less eager were the Franks.
"Fair Sir Comrade," said Oliver to Roland, "methinks we shall have a
fray with the heathen."
"God grant it," returned Roland. "Our duty is to hold this pass for
our king. A vassal must endure for his lord grief and pain, heat and
cold, torment and death; and a knight's duty is to strike mighty
blows, that men may sing of him, in time to come, no evil songs.
Never shall such be sung of me."
Oliver Descries the Saracens
Hearing a great tumult, Oliver ascended a hill and looked towards
Spain, where he perceived the great pagan army, like a gleaming sea,
with shining hauberks and helms flashing in the sun. "Alas! we are
betrayed! This treason is plotted by Ganelon, who put us in the rear,"
he cried. "Say no more," said Roland; "blame him not in this: he is my
stepfather."
Now Oliver alone had seen the might of the pagan array, and he was
appalled by the countless multitudes of the heathens. He descended
from the hill and appealed to Roland.
Roland will not Blow his Horn
"'Comrade Roland, sound your war-horn,
Your great Olifant, far-sounding:
Charles will hear it and return here.'
'Cowardice were that,' quoth Roland;
'In fair France my fame were tarnished.
No, these Pagans all shall perish
When I brandish Durendala.'
"'Comrade Roland, sound your war-horn:
Charles will hear it and return here.'
'God forbid it,' Roland answered,
'That it e'er be sung by minstrels
I was asking help in battle
From my King against these Pagans.
I will ne'er do such dishonour
To my kinsmen and my nation.
No, these heathen all shall perish
When I brandish Durendala.'
"'Comrade Roland, sound your war-horn
Charles will hear it and return here.
See how countless are the heathen
And how small our Frankish troop is!'
'God forbid it,' answered Roland,
'That our fair France be dishonoured
Or by me or by my comrades--
Death we choose, but not dishonour!'"
Roland was a valiant hero, but Oliver had prudence as well as valour,
and his advice was that of a good and careful general. Now he spoke
reproachfully.
It is Too Late
"Ah, Roland, if you had sounded your magic horn the king would soon be
here, and we should not perish! Now look to the heights and to the
mountain passes: see those who surround us. None of us will see the
light of another day!"
"Speak not so foolishly," retorted Roland. "Accursed be all cowards,
say I." Then, softening his tone a little, he continued: "Friend and
comrade, say no more. The emperor has entrusted to us twenty thousand
Frenchmen, and not a coward among them. Lay on with thy lance, Oliver,
and I will strike with Durendala. If I die men shall say: 'This was
the sword of a noble vassal.'"
Turpin Blesses the Knights
Then spoke the brave and saintly Archbishop Turpin. Spurring his
horse, he rode, a gallant figure, to the summit of a hill, whence he
called aloud to the Frankish knights:
"'Fair sirs and barons, Charles has left us here
To serve him, or at need to die for him.
See, yonder come the foes of Christendom,
And we must fight for God and Holy Faith.
Now, say your shrift, and make your peace with Heaven;
I will absolve you and will heal your souls;
And if you die as martyrs, your true home
Is ready midst the flowers of Paradise!'"
The Frankish knights, dismounting, knelt before Turpin, who blessed
and absolved them all, bidding them, as penance, to strike hard
against the heathen.
Then Roland called his brother-in-arms, the brave and courteous
Oliver, and said: "Fair brother, I know now that Ganelon has betrayed
us for reward and Marsile has bought us; but the payment shall be made
with our swords, and Charlemagne will terribly avenge us."
"Montjoie! Montjoie!"
While the two armies yet stood face to face in battle array Oliver
replied: "What good is it to speak? You would not sound your horn, and
Charles cannot help us; he is not to blame. Barons and lords, ride on
and yield not. In God's name fight and slay, and remember the war-cry
of our Emperor." And at the words the war-cry of "Montjoie! Montjoie!"
burst from the whole army as they spurred against the advancing
heathen host.
The Fray
Great was the fray that day, deadly was the combat, as the Moors and
Franks crashed together, shouting their cries, invoking their gods or
saints, wielding with utmost courage sword, lance, javelin, scimitar,
or dagger. Blades flashed, lances were splintered, helms were cloven
in that terrible fight of heroes. Each of the Twelve Peers did mighty
feats of arms. Roland himself slew the nephew of King Marsile, who had
promised to bring Roland's head to his uncle's feet, and bitter were
the words that Roland hurled at the lifeless body of his foe, who had
but just before boasted that Charlemagne should lose his right hand.
Oliver slew the heathen king's brother, and one by one the Twelve
Peers proved their mettle on the twelve champions of King Marsile, and
left them dead or mortally wounded on the field. Wherever the battle
was fiercest and the danger greatest, where help was most needed,
there Roland spurred to the rescue, swinging Durendala, and, falling
on the heathen like a thunderbolt of war, turned the tide of battle
again and yet again.
"Red was Roland, red with bloodshed:
Red his corselet, red his shoulders,
Red his arm, and red his charger."
Like the red god Mars he rode through the battle; and as he went he
met Oliver, with the truncheon or a spear in his grasp.
"'Friend, what hast thou there?' cried Roland.
'In this game 'tis not a distaff,
But a blade of steel thou needest.
Where is now Hauteclaire, thy good sword,
Golden-hilted, crystal-pommeled?'
'Here,' said Oliver; 'so fight I
That I have not time to draw it.'
'Friend,' quoth Roland, 'more I love thee
Ever henceforth than a brother.'"
The Saracens Perish
Thus the battle continued, most valiantly contested by both sides, and
the Saracens died by hundreds and thousands, till all their host lay
dead but one man, who fled wounded, leaving the Frenchmen masters of
the field, but in sorry plight--broken were their swords and lances,
rent their hauberks, torn and blood-stained their gay banners and
pennons, and many, many of their brave comrades lay lifeless. Sadly
they looked round on the heaps of corpses, and their minds were filled
with grief as they thought of their companions, of fair France which
they should see no more, and of their emperor who even now awaited
them while they fought and died for him. Yet they were not
discouraged; loudly their cry re-echoed, "Montjoie! Montjoie!" as
Roland cheered them on, and Turpin called aloud: "Our men are heroes;
no king under heaven has better. It is written in the Chronicles of
France that in that great land it is our king's right to have valiant
soldiers."
A Second Saracen Army
While they sought in tears the bodies of their friends, the main army
of the Saracens, under King Marsile in person, came upon them; for the
one fugitive who had escaped had urged Marsile to attack again at
once, while the Franks were still weary. The advice seemed good to
Marsile, and he advanced at the head of a hundred thousand men, whom
he now hurled against the French in columns of fifty thousand at a
time; and they came on right valiantly, with clarions sounding and
trumpets blowing.
"'Soldiers of the Lord,' cried Turpin,
'Be ye valiant and steadfast,
For this day shall crowns be given you
Midst the flowers of Paradise.
In the name of God our Saviour,
Be ye not dismayed nor frighted,
Lest of you be shameful legends
Chanted by the tongue of minstrels.
Rather let us die victorious,
Since this eve shall see us lifeless!--
Heaven has no room for cowards!
Knights, who nobly fight, and vainly,
Ye shall sit amid the holy
In the blessed fields of Heaven.
On then, Friends of God, to glory!'"
And the battle raged anew, with all the odds against the small handful
of French, who knew they were doomed, and fought as though they were
"fey."[13]
Gloomy Portents
Meanwhile the whole course of nature was disturbed. In France there
were tempests of wind and thunder, rain and hail; thunderbolts fell
everywhere, and the earth shook exceedingly. From Mont St. Michel to
Cologne, from Besancon to Wissant, not one town could show its walls
uninjured, not one village its houses unshaken. A terrible darkness
spread over all the land, only broken when the heavens split asunder
with the lightning-flash. Men whispered in terror: "Behold the end of
the world! Behold the great Day of Doom!" Alas! they knew not the
truth: it was the great mourning for the death of Roland.
Many French Knights Fall
In this second battle the French champions were weary, and before long
they began to fall before the valour of the newly arrived Saracen
nobles. First died Engelier the Gascon, mortally wounded by the lance
of that Saracen who swore brotherhood to Ganelon; next Samson, and the
noble Duke Anseis. These three were well avenged by Roland and Oliver
and Turpin. Then in quick succession died Gerin and Gerier and other
valiant Peers at the hands of Grandoigne, until his death-dealing
career was cut short by Durendala. Another desperate single combat was
won by Turpin, who slew a heathen emir "as black as molten pitch."
The Second Army Defeated
Finally this second host of the heathens gave way and fled, begging
Marsile to come and succour them; but now of the victorious French
there were but sixty valiant champions left alive, including Roland,
Oliver, and the fiery prelate Turpin.
A Third Appears
Now the third host of the pagans began to roll forward upon the
dauntless little band, and in the short breathing-space before the
Saracens again attacked them Roland cried aloud to Oliver:
"'Fair Knight and Comrade, see these heroes,
Valiant warriors, lying lifeless!
I must mourn for our fair country
France, left widowed of her barons.
Charles my King, why art thou absent?
Brother mine, how shall we send him
Mournful tidings of our struggle?'
'How I know not,' said his comrade.
'Better death than vile dishonour.'"
Roland Willing to Blow his Horn
"'Comrade, I will blow my war-horn:
Charles will hear it in the passes
And return with all his army.'
Oliver quoth: ''Twere disgraceful
To your kinsmen all their life-days.
When I urged it, then you would not;
Now, to sound your horn is shameful,
And I never will approve it.'"
Oliver Objects. They Quarrel
"'See, the battle goes against us:
Comrade, I shall sound my war-horn.'
Oliver replied: 'O coward!
When I urged it, then you would not.
If fair France again shall greet me
You shall never wed my sister;
By this beard of mine I swear it!'
"'Why so bitter and so wrathful?'
Oliver returned: ''Tis thy fault;
Valour is not kin to madness,
Temperance knows naught of fury.
You have killed these noble champions,
You have slain the Emperor's vassals,
You have robbed us of our conquests.
Ah, your valour, Count, is fatal!
Charles must lose his doughty heroes,
And your league with me must finish
With this day in bitter sorrow.'"
Turpin Mediates
Archbishop Turpin heard the dispute, and strove to calm the angry
heroes. "Brave knights, be not so enraged. The horn will not save the
lives of these gallant dead, but it will be better to sound it, that
Charles, our lord and emperor, may return, may avenge our death and
weep over our corpses, may bear them to fair France, and bury them in
the sanctuary, where the wild beasts shall not devour them." "That is
well said," quoth Roland and Oliver.
The Horn is Blown
Then at last Roland put the carved ivory horn, the magic Olifant, to
his lips, and blew so loudly that the sound echoed thirty leagues
away. "Hark! our men are in combat!" cried Charlemagne; but Ganelon
retorted: "Had any but the king said it, that had been a lie."
A second time Roland blew his horn, so violently and with such anguish
that the veins of his temples burst, and the blood flowed from his
brow and from his mouth. Charlemagne, pausing, heard it again, and
said: "That is Roland's horn; he would not sound it were there no
battle." But Ganelon said mockingly: "There is no battle, for Roland
is too proud to sound his horn in danger. Besides, who would dare to
attack Roland, the strong, the valiant, great and wonderful Roland? No
man. He is doubtless hunting, and laughing with the Peers. Your
words, my liege, do but show how old and weak and doting you are. Ride
on, sire; the open country lies far before you."
[Illustration: "Charlemagne heard it again"]
When Roland blew the horn for the third time he had hardly breath to
awaken the echoes; but still Charlemagne heard. "How faintly comes the
sound! There is death in that feeble blast!" said the emperor; and
Duke Naimes interrupted eagerly: "Sire, Roland is in peril; some one
has betrayed him--doubtless he who now tries to beguile you! Sire,
rouse your host, arm for battle, and ride to save your nephew."
Ganelon Arrested
Then Charlemagne called aloud: "Hither, my men. Take this traitor
Ganelon and keep him safe till my return." And the kitchen folk seized
the felon knight, chained him by the neck, and beat him; then, binding
him hand and foot, they flung him on a sorry nag, to be borne with
them till Charles should demand him at their hands again.
Charles Returns
With all speed the whole army retraced their steps, turning their
faces to Spain, and saying: "Ah, if we could find Roland alive what
blows we would strike for him!" Alas! it was too late! Too late!
How lofty are the peaks, how vast and shadowy the mountains! How dim
and gloomy the passes, how deep the valleys! How swift the rushing
torrents! Yet with headlong speed the Frankish army hastens back, with
trumpets sounding in token of approaching help, all praying God to
preserve Roland till they come. Alas! they cannot reach him in time!
Too late. Too late!
Roland Weeps for his Comrades
Now Roland cast his gaze around on hill and valley, and saw his noble
vassals and comrades lie dead. As a noble knight he wept for them,
saying:
"'Fair Knights, may God have mercy on your souls!
May He receive you into Paradise
And grant you rest on banks of heavenly flowers!
Ne'er have I known such mighty men as you.
Fair France, that art the best of all dear lands,
How art thou widowed of thy noble sons!
Through me alone, dear comrades, have you died,
And yet through me no help nor safety comes.
God have you in His keeping! Brother, come,
Let us attack the heathen and win death,
Or grief will slay me! Death is duty now.'"
He Fights Desperately
So saying, he rushed into the battle, slew the only son of King
Marsile, and drove the heathen before him as the hounds drive the
deer. Turpin saw and applauded. "So should a good knight do, wearing
good armour and riding a good steed. He must deal good strong strokes
in battle, or he is not worth a groat. Let a coward be a monk in some
cloister and pray for the sins of us fighters."
Marsile in wrath attacked the slayer of his son, but in vain; Roland
struck off his right hand, and Marsile fled back mortally wounded to
Saragossa, while his main host, seized with panic, left the field to
Roland. However, the caliph, Marsile's uncle, rallied the ranks, and,
with fifty thousand Saracens, once more came against the little troop
of Champions of the Cross, the three poor survivors of the rearguard.
Roland cried aloud: "Now shall we be martyrs for our faith. Fight
boldly, lords, for life or death! Sell yourselves dearly! Let not fair
France be dishonoured in her sons. When the Emperor sees us dead with
our slain foes around us he will bless our valour."
Oliver Falls
The pagans were emboldened by the sight of the three alone, and the
caliph, rushing at Oliver, pierced him from behind with his lance. But
though mortally wounded Oliver retained strength enough to slay the
caliph, and to cry aloud: "Roland! Roland! Aid me!" then he rushed on
the heathen army, doing heroic deeds and shouting "Montjoie!
Montjoie!" while the blood ran from his wound and stained the earth
blood-red. At this woeful sight Roland swooned with grief, and Oliver,
faint from loss of blood, and with eyes dimmed by fast-coming death,
distinguished not the face of his dear friend; he saw only a vague
figure drawing near, and, mistaking it for an enemy, raised his sword
Hauteclaire and gave Roland one last terrible blow, which clove the
helmet, but harmed not the head. The blow roused Roland from his
swoon, and, gazing tenderly at Oliver, he gently asked him:
"'Comrade and brother, was that blow designed
To slay your Roland, him who loves you so?
There is no vengeance you would wreak on me.'
'Roland, I hear you speak, but see you not.
God guard and keep you, friend; but pardon me
The blow I struck, unwitting, on your head.'
'I have no hurt,' said Roland; 'I forgive
Here and before the judgment-throne of God.'"
And Dies
Now Oliver felt the pains of death come upon him. Both sight and
hearing were gone, his colour fled, and, dismounting, he lay upon the
earth; there, humbly confessing his sins, he begged God to grant him
rest in Paradise, to bless his lord Charlemagne and the fair land of
France, and to keep above all men his comrade Roland, his best-loved
brother-in-arms. This ended, he fell back, his heart failed, his head
drooped low, and Oliver the brave and courteous knight lay dead on the
blood-stained earth, with his face turned to the east. Roland lamented
him in gentle words: "Comrade, alas for thy valour! Many days and
years have we been comrades: no ill didst thou to me, nor I to thee:
now thou art dead, 'tis pity that I live!"
Turpin is Mortally Wounded. The Horn Again
Turpin and Roland now stood together for a time and were joined by the
brave Count Gautier, whose thousand men had been slain, and he himself
grievously wounded; he now came, like a loyal vassal, to die with his
lord Roland, and was slain in the first discharge of arrows which the
Saracens shot. Taught by experience, the pagans kept their distance,
and wounded Turpin with four lances, while they stood some yards away
from the heroes. But when Turpin felt himself mortally wounded he
plunged into the throng of the heathen, killing four hundred before he
fell, and Roland fought on with broken armour, and with ever-bleeding
head, till in a pause of the deadly strife he took his horn and again
sent forth a feeble dying blast.
Charles Answers the Horn
Charlemagne heard it, and was filled with anguish. "Lords, all goes
ill: I know by the sound of Roland's horn he has not long to live!
Ride on faster, and let all our trumpets sound, in token of our
approach." Then sixty thousand trumpets sounded, so that mountains
echoed it and valleys replied, and the heathen heard it and trembled.
"It is Charlemagne! Charles is coming!" they cried. "If Roland lives
till he comes the war will begin again, and our bright Spain is
lost." Thereupon four hundred banded together to slay Roland; but he
rushed upon them, mounted on his good steed Veillantif, and the
valiant pagans fled. But while Roland dismounted to tend the dying
archbishop they returned and cast darts from afar, slaying Veillantif,
the faithful war-horse, and piercing the hero's armour. Still nearer
and nearer sounded the clarions of Charlemagne's army in the defiles,
and the Saracen host fled for ever, leaving Roland alone, on foot,
expiring, amid the dying and the dead.
Turpin Blesses the Dead
Roland made his way to Turpin, unlaced his golden helmet, took off his
hauberk, tore his own tunic to bind up his grievous wounds, and then
gently raising the prelate, carried him to the fresh green grass,
where he most tenderly laid him down.
"'Ah, gentle lord,' said Roland, 'give me leave
To carry here our comrades who are dead,
Whom we so dearly loved; they must not lie
Unblest; but I will bring their corpses here
And thou shalt bless them, and me, ere thou die.'
'Go,' said the dying priest, 'but soon return.
Thank God! the victory is yours and mine!'"
With great pain and many delays Roland traversed the field of
slaughter, looking in the faces of the dead, till he had found and
brought to Turpin's feet the bodies of the eleven Peers, last of all
Oliver, his own dear friend and brother, and Turpin blessed and
absolved them all. Now Roland's grief was so deep and his weakness so
great that he swooned where he stood, and the archbishop saw him fall
and heard his cry of pain. Slowly and painfully Turpin struggled to
his feet, and, bending over Roland, took Olifant, the curved ivory
horn; inch by inch the dying archbishop tottered towards a little
mountain stream, that the few drops he could carry might revive
Roland.
He Dies
However, his weakness overcame him before he reached the water, and he
fell forward dying. Feebly he made his confession, painfully he joined
his hands in prayer, and as he prayed his spirit fled. Turpin, the
faithful champion of the Cross, in teaching and in battle, died in the
service of Charlemagne. May God have mercy on his soul!
When Roland awoke from his swoon he looked for Turpin, and found him
dead, and, seeing Olifant, he guessed what the archbishop's aim had
been, and wept for pity. Crossing the fair white hands over Turpin's
breast, he sadly prayed:
"'Alas! brave priest, fair lord of noble birth,
Thy soul I give to the great King of Heaven!
No mightier champion has He in His hosts,
No prophet greater to maintain the Faith,
No teacher mightier to convert mankind
Since Christ's Apostles walked upon the earth!
May thy fair soul escape the pains of Hell
And Paradise receive thee in its bowers!'"
Roland's Last Fight
Now death was very near to Roland, and he felt it coming upon him
while he yet prayed and commended himself to his guardian angel
Gabriel. Taking in one hand Olifant, and in the other his good sword
Durendala, Roland climbed a little hill, one bowshot within the realm
of Spain. There under two pine-trees he found four marble steps, and
as he was about to climb them, fell swooning on the grass very near
his end. A lurking Saracen, who had feigned death, stole from his
covert, and, calling aloud, "Charles's nephew is vanquished! I will
bear his sword back to Arabia," seized Durendala as it lay in Roland's
dying clasp. The attempt roused Roland, and he opened his eyes,
saying, "Thou art not of us," then struck such a blow with Olifant on
the helm of the heathen thief that he fell dead before his intended
victim.
He Tries to Break his Sword
Pale, bleeding, dying, Roland struggled to his feet, bent on saving
his good blade from the defilement of heathen hands. He grasped
Durendala, and the brown marble before him split beneath his mighty
blows; but the good sword stood firm, the steel grated but did not
break, and Roland lamented aloud that his famous sword must now become
the weapon of a lesser man. Again Roland smote with Durendala, and
clove the block of sardonyx, but the good steel only grated and did
not break, and the hero bewailed himself aloud, saying, "Alas! my good
Durendala, how bright and pure thou art! How thou flamest in the
sunbeams, as when the angel brought thee! How many lands hast thou
conquered for Charles my King, how many champions slain, how many
heathen converted! Must I now leave thee to the pagans? May God spare
fair France this shame!" A third time Roland raised the sword and
struck a rock of blue marble, which split asunder, but the steel only
grated--it would not break; and the hero knew that he could do no
more.
His Last Prayer
Then he flung himself on the ground under a pine-tree with his face to
the earth, his sword and Olifant beneath him, his face to the foe,
that Charlemagne and the Franks might see when they came that he died
victorious. He made his confession, prayed for mercy, and offered to
Heaven his glove, in token of submission for all his sins. "_Mea
culpa!_ O God! I pray for pardon for all my sins, both great and
small, that I have sinned from my birth until this day." So he held up
towards Heaven his right-hand glove, and the angels of God descended
around him. Again Roland prayed:
"'O very Father, who didst never lie,
Didst bring St. Lazarus from the dead again,
Didst save St. Daniel from the lion's mouth,
Save Thou my soul and keep it from all ills
That I have merited by all my sins!'"
He Dies
Again he held up to Heaven his glove, and St. Gabriel received it;
then, with head bowed and hands clasped, the hero died, and the
waiting cherubim, St. Raphael, St. Michael, and St. Gabriel, bore his
soul to Paradise.
So died Roland and the Peers of France.
Charles Arrives
Soon after Roland's heroic spirit had passed away the emperor came
galloping out of the mountains into the valley of Roncesvalles, where
not a foot of ground was without its burden of death.
Loudly he called: "Fair nephew, where art thou? Where is the
archbishop? And Count Oliver? Where are the Peers?"
Alas! of what avail was it to call? No man replied, for all were dead;
and Charlemagne wrung his hands, and tore his beard and wept, and his
army bewailed their slain comrades, and all men thought of vengeance.
Truly a fearful vengeance did Charles take, in that terrible battle
which he fought the next day against the Emir of Babylon, come from
oversea to help his vassal Marsile, when the sun stood still in heaven
that the Christians might be avenged on their enemies; in the capture
of Saragossa and the death of Marsile, who, already mortally wounded,
turned his face to the wall and died when he heard of the defeat of
the emir; but when vengeance was taken on the open enemy Charlemagne
thought of mourning, and returned to Roncesvalles to seek the body of
his beloved nephew.
The emperor knew well that Roland would be found before his men, with
his face to the foe. Thus he advanced a bowshot from his companions
and climbed a little hill, there found the little flowery meadow
stained red with the blood of his barons, and there at the summit,
under the trees, lay the body of Roland on the green grass. The broken
blocks of marble bore traces of the hero's dying efforts, and
Charlemagne raised Roland, and, clasping the hero in his arms,
lamented over him.
His Lament
"'The Lord have mercy, Roland, on thy soul!
Never again shall our fair France behold
A knight so worthy, till France be no more!
"'The Lord have mercy, Roland, on thy soul!
That thou mayest rest in flowers of Paradise
With all His glorious Saints for evermore!
My honour now will lessen and decay,
My days be spent in grief for lack of thee,
My joy and power will vanish. There is none,
Comrade or kinsman, to maintain my cause.
"'The Lord have mercy, Roland, on thy soul!
And grant thee place in Paradise the blest,
Thou valiant youth, thou mighty conqueror!
How widowed lies our fair France and how lone
How will the realms that I have swayed rebel
Now thou art taken from my weary age!
So deep my woe that fain would I die too
And join my valiant Peers in Paradise
While men inter my weary limbs with thine!'"[14]
The Dead Buried
The French army buried the dead with all honour, where they had
fallen, except the bodies of Roland, Oliver, and Turpin, which were
carried to Blaye, and interred in the great cathedral there; and then
Charlemagne returned to Aix.
Aude the Fair
As Charles the Great entered his palace a beauteous maiden met him,
Aude the Fair, the sister of Oliver and betrothed bride of Roland. She
asked eagerly:
"Where is Roland the mighty captain, who swore to take me for his
bride?"
[Illustration: Aude the Fair
Evelyn Paul]
"Alas! dear sister and friend," said Charlemagne, weeping and tearing
his long white beard, "thou askest tidings of the dead. But I will
replace him: thou shalt have Louis, my son, Count of the Marches."
"These words are strange," exclaimed Aude the Fair. "God and all His
saints and angels forbid that I should live when Roland my love is
dead." Thereupon she lost her colour and fell at the emperor's feet;
he thought her fainting, but she was dead. God have mercy on her soul!
The Traitor Put to Death
Too long it would be to tell of the trial of Ganelon the traitor.
Suffice it that he was torn asunder by wild horses, and his name
remains in France a byword for all disloyalty and treachery.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] _See_ "Myths and Legends of the Middle Ages," by H. Guerber.
[13] Marked out for death.
[14] The poetical quotations are from the "Chanson de Roland."