It was near the time of the solemn festival of Easter,--the time when
Nature seems to rise from the grave, and the Earth puts on anew her
garb of youth and beauty. King Charlemagne was at St. Omer; for there
the good Archbishop Turpin was making ready to celebrate the great
feast with more than ordinary grandeur. Thither, too, had come the
members of the king's household, and a great number of lords and
ladies, the noblest in France.
Scarcely had the good archbishop pronounced a blessing upon the devout
multitude assembled at the Easter service, when two messengers came in
hot haste, and demanded to speak with the king. They had come from
Rome, and they bore letters from Pope Leo. Sad was the news which
these letters brought, but it was news which would fire the heart of
every Christian knight. The Saracens had landed in Italy, and had
taken Rome by assault. "The pope and the cardinals and the legates
have fled," said the letters; "the churches are torn down; the holy
relics are lost; and the Christians are put to the sword. Wherefore
the Holy Father charges you as a Christian king to march at once to the
help of the Church."
It needed no word of Charlemagne to arouse the ardor of his warriors.
Every other undertaking must be laid aside, so long as Rome and the
Church were in danger. And the heralds proclaimed that on the morrow,
at break of day, the army would move southward toward Italy.
The morning after Easter dawned, and the great army waited for the
signal to march. The bugles sounded, and the long line of steel-clad
knights and warriors began to move. Charlemagne rode in the front
ranks, ready, like a true knight, to brave every difficulty, and to be
the first in every post of danger. Never did a better king wear spur.
Great was the haste with which the army moved, and very impatient were
the warriors; for the whole of France lay between them and fair Italy,
and they knew that weeks of weary marching must be endured, ere they
could meet their Pagan foe in battle, and drive him out of the
Christians' land.
Many days they rode among the rich fields and between the blooming
orchards of the Seine valley; many days they toiled over unbroken
forest roads, and among marshes and bogs, and across untrodden
moorlands. They climbed steep hills, and swam broad rivers, and
endured the rain and the wind and the fierce heat of the noonday sun,
and sometimes even the pangs of hunger and thirst. But they carried
brave hearts within them; and they comforted themselves with the
thought that all their suffering was for the glory of God and the honor
of the king, for their country's safety and the security of their homes.
Every day, as they advanced, the army increased in numbers and in
strength: for the news had been carried all over the land, that the
Saracens had taken Rome, and that Charlemagne with his host was
hastening to the rescue; and knights and noblemen from every city and
town and countryside came to join his standard, sometimes alone and
singly, and sometimes with a great retinue of fighting men and
servitors. When at last they had passed the boundaries of France, and
only the great mountains lay between them and Italy, Charlemagne could
look behind him, and see an army of a hundred thousand men. And now
messengers came to him again, urging him to hasten with all speed to
the succor of the pope.
But the Alps Mountains lifted themselves up in his pathway, and their
snowy crags frowned threateningly upon him; their steep, rocky sides
arose like walls before him, and seemed to forbid his going farther;
and there appeared to be no way of reaching Italy, save by a long and
circuitous route through the southern passes.
In the hope that he might find some shorter and easier passage,
Charlemagne now sent out scouts and mountaineers to explore every
valley and gorge, and every seeming mountain pass. But all came back
with the same story: there was not even so much as a path up which the
mountain goats could clamber, much less a road broad enough for an
army, with horses and baggage, to traverse. The king was in despair,
and he called together his counsellors and wise men to consider what
should be done. Duke Namon urged that they should march around by way
of the southern passes; for, although a full month would thus be lost,
yet there was no other safe and well-known land-route to Italy.
Ganelon advised that they should turn back, and, marching to
Marseilles, embark from thence on ships, and undertake to reach Rome by
way of the sea.
Then the dwarf Malagis came before Charlemagne, bearing in his hand a
book, from which he read many spells and weird enchantments. Upon the
ground he drew with his wand a magic ring, and he laid therein the
hammer of Thor and the sword of Mahomet. In a loud, commanding voice,
he called upon the sprites, the trolls, and the goblins, with whom he
was familiar, to come at once into his presence. Forthwith the
lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled, and smoke and fire burst
forth from the mountain peaks, and the rocks and great ice-fields were
loosened among the crags, and came tumbling down into the valley.
Dwarfs and elves, and many an uncanny thing, danced and shouted in the
mountain caves; grinning ogres peeped out from the deep clefts and
gorges; and the very air seemed full of ghost-like creatures. Then the
wizard called by name a wise but wicked goblin, known among the
Saracens as Ashtaroth; and the goblin came at once, riding in a
whirlwind, and feeling very angry because he was obliged to obey.
"Tell me now," said Malagis, "and tell me truly, whether there is here
so much as a pathway by which Charlemagne may lead his army through the
mountains."
The goblin was silent for a moment; a dark cloud rested upon his face,
and his look was terrible. But the wizard, in no wise daunted,
returned his glance, and in the tones of a master bade him clear up
that clouded look, and answer the question he had asked. Then
Ashtaroth curbed his anger, and spoke:
"On what errand would the French king cross the Alps?" he asked.
"Seeks he not to harm my friends the Saracens?"
"That is, indeed, his errand," answered Malagis.
"Then, why should I do aught to help him?" asked the goblin. "Why do
you call me from my rest, and bid me betray my friends?"
"That is not for thee to ask," said Malagis. "I have called thee as a
master calls his slave. Tell me now, and tell me truly, is there here
any pass across the mountains into Italy?"
"There is such a pass," answered the goblin gravely; "but it is hidden
to eyes like mine. I cannot guide you to it, nor can any of my kind
show you how to find it. It is a pathway which only the pure can
tread."
"Tell me one thing more," said Malagis. "Tell me one thing, and I will
let thee go. How prosper thy friends the Saracens at Rome?"
"They have taken all but the Capitol," was the answer. "They have
slain many Christians, and burned many buildings. The pope and the
cardinals have fled. If Charlemagne reach not Italy within a month,
ill will it fare with his friends."
Then Malagis, satisfied with what he had heard, unwound the spell of
his enchantments; and amid a cloud of fire and smoke the goblin flew
back into the mountains.
Next the good Turpin came forward, with a crosier in his hand, and a
bishop's mitre on his head, and a long white robe thrown over his
shoulders, scarcely hiding the steel armor which he wore beneath. He
lifted up his eyes to heaven and prayed. And the sound of his voice
arose among the cliffs, and resounded among the rocks, and was echoed
from valley to valley, and re-echoed among the peaks and crags, and
carried over the mountain tops, even to the blue sky above. The king
and those who stood about him fancied that they heard sweet strains of
music issuing from the mountain caves; the most bewitching sounds arose
among the rocks and gorges; the air was filled with a heavenly perfume
and the songs of birds; and a holy calm settled over mountain and
valley, and fell like a blessing upon the earth. Then the Alps no
longer seemed obstacles in their way. The steep cliffs, which had been
like mighty walls barring their progress, seemed now mere gentle
slopes, rising little by little toward heaven, and affording a pleasant
and easy highway to the fair fields of Italy beyond.
While Charlemagne and his peers gazed in rapt delight upon this vision,
there came down from the mountain crags a beautiful creature such as
none of them had ever before seen. It was a noble stag, white as the
drifted snow, his head crowned with wide-branching antlers, from every
point of which bright sunbeams seemed to flash.
"Behold our leader and our hope!" cried Turpin. "Behold the
sure-footed guide which the Wonder-king has sent to lead us through
narrow ways, and over dangerous steeps, to the smiling valleys and
fields of Italy! Be only strong and trustful and believing, and a safe
way shall open for us, even where there seemed to be no way."
Then the vision faded slowly away from the sight of the peers; and the
mountain walls rose up before them as grim and steep as ever; and the
snow-crowned crags looked down upon them even more angrily than before,
and there seemed no road nor pathway which the foot of man could
follow. But the wondrous white stag, which had filled their minds with
a new-born hope, still stood in plain sight on the lowermost slopes of
the mountain.
The king, without once taking his eyes from the Heaven-sent creature,
mounted his war-steed, and sounded the bugle which hung at his girdle;
and the great army, confiding in the wisdom of their leader, began to
move. The white stag went first, steadily following a narrow pathway,
which led upward by many steep ascents, seemingly to the very clouds;
and behind him rode Charlemagne, keeping ever in view his radiant,
hopeful guide, and followed by the long line of knights and warriors,
who, cheered by his earnest faith, never once feared the end.
Higher and higher they climbed, and more and more difficult became the
way. On one side of them arose a steep wall, shutting out from their
sight more than half of the sky; on the other side, dark gorges and
yawning gulfs descended, threatening to bury the whole army in their
bottomless depths. And by and by they came to the region of snow and
ice, where the Storm-king holds his court, and reigns in ever-lasting
solitude. Looking back, they could see sweet France, lying spread out
as a map beneath them, its pleasant fields and its busy towns seeming
only as specks in the dim distance. But when they looked forward,
hoping there to see a like map of fair Italy, only the rocks and the
ice, and the narrow pathway, and the desolate mountain crags, met their
sight.
They would have become disheartened by the difficulties before them,
and have turned back in utter despair, had not the bright form of their
guide, and the cheerful countenance of Charlemagne, inspired them with
ever-renewed hope. For seven days they toiled among the dangerous
steeps; and on the eighth a glorious vision burst upon their view--the
smiling plains of Italy lay before them.
At this sight a great shout of joy went up from the throats of the
toil-worn heroes, and the good archbishop returned thanks to Heaven for
their deliverance from peril. And, a few hours later, the whole army
emerged into the pleasant valleys of Piedmont, and encamped not far
from Aosta.