| |
XXIX
Ganelon rides under olives high, | |
| And comes the Saracen envoys nigh. | |
| Blancandrin lingers until they meet, | |
| And in cunning converse each other greet. | |
| The Saracen thus began their parle: | 5 |
| “What a man, what a wondrous man is Karl! | |
| Apulia—Calabria—all subdued, | |
| Unto England crossed he the salt sea rude, | |
| Won for Saint Peter his tribute fee; | |
| But what in our marches maketh he?” | 10 |
| Ganelon said, “He is great of heart, | |
| Never man shall fill so mighty a part.” | |
| |
XXX
Said Blancandrin, “Your Franks are high of fame, | |
| But your dukes and counts are sore to blame. | |
| Such counsel to their lord they give, | 15 |
| Nor he nor others in peace may live.” | |
| Ganelon answered, “I know of none, | |
| Save Roland, who thus to his shame hath done. | |
| Last morn the Emperor sat in the shade, | |
| His nephew came in his mail arrayed,— | 20 |
| He had plundered Carcassonne just before, | |
| And a vermeil apple in hand he bore: | |
| ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘to your feet I bring | |
| The crown of every earthly king.’ | |
| Disaster is sure such pride to blast; | 25 |
| He setteth his life on a daily cast. | |
| Were he slain, we all should have peace at last.” | |
| |
XXXI
“Ruthless is Roland,” Blancandrin spake, | |
| “Who every race would recreant make, | |
| And on all possessions of men would seize; | 30 |
| But in whom doth he trust for feats like these?” | |
| “The Franks! the Franks!” Count Ganelon cried; | |
| “They love him, and never desert his side; | |
| For he lavisheth gifts that seldom fail, | |
| Gold and silver in countless tale, | 35 |
| Mules and chargers, and silks and mail, | |
| The king himself may have spoil at call. | |
| From hence to the East he will conquer all.” | |
| |
XXXII
Thus Blancandrin and Ganelon rode, | |
| Till each on other his faith bestowed | 40 |
| That Roland should be by practice slain, | |
| And so they journeyed by path and plain, | |
| Till in Saragossa they bridle drew, | |
| There alighted beneath a yew. | |
| In a pine-tree’s shadow a throne was set; | 45 |
| Alexandrian silk was the coverlet: | |
| There the monarch of Spain they found, | |
| With twenty thousand Saracens round, | |
| Yet from them came nor breath nor sound; | |
| All for the tidings they strained to hear, | 50 |
| As they saw Blancandrin and Ganelon near. | |
| |
XXXIII
Blancandrin stepped before Marsil’s throne, | |
| Ganelon’s hand was in his own. | |
| “Mahound you save,” to the king he said, | |
| “And Apollin, whose holy law we dread! | 55 |
| Fairly your errand to Karl! was done; | |
| But other answer made he none, | |
| Save that his hands to Heaven he raised, | |
| Save that a space his God he praised; | |
| He sends a baron of his court, | 60 |
| Knight of France, and of high report, | |
| Of him your tidings of peace receive.” | |
| “Let him speak,” said Marsil, “we yield him leave.” | |
| |
XXXIV
Gan had bethought him, and mused with art; | |
| Well was he skilled to play his part; | 65 |
| And he said to Marsil, “May God you save, | |
| The God of glory, whose grace we crave! | |
| Thus saith the noble Carlemaine: | |
| You shall make in Christ confession plain. | |
| And he gives you in fief full half of Spain; | 70 |
| The other half shall be Roland’s share | |
| (Right haughty partner, he yields you there); | |
| And should you slight the terms I bear, | |
| He will come and gird Saragossa round, | |
| You shall be taken by force and bound, | 75 |
| Led unto Aix, to his royal seat, | |
| There to perish by judgment meet, | |
| Dying a villainous death of shame.” | |
| Over King Marsil a horror came; | |
| He grasped his javelin, plumed with gold, | 80 |
| In act to smite, were he not controlled. | |
| |
XXXV
King Marsil’s cheek the hue hath left, | |
| And his right hand grasped his weapon’s heft. | |
| When Ganelon saw it, his sword he drew | |
| Finger lengths from the scabbard two. | 85 |
| “Sword,” he said, “thou art clear and bright; | |
| I have borne thee long in my fellows’s sight, | |
| Mine emperor never shall say of me, | |
| That I perished afar, in a strange countrie, | |
| Ere thou in the blood of their best wert dyed.” | 90 |
| “Dispart the mellay,” the heathens cried. | |
| |
XXXVI
The noblest Saracens thronged amain, | |
| Seated the king on his throne again, | |
| And the Algalif said, “ ’Twas a sorry prank, | |
| Raising your weapon to slay the Frank. | 95 |
| It was yours to hearken in silence there.” | |
| “Sir,” said Gan, “I may meetly bear, | |
| But for all the wealth of your land arrayed, | |
| For all the gold that God hath made, | |
| Would I not live and leave unsaid, | 100 |
| What Karl, the mightiest king below, | |
| Sends, through me, to his mortal foe.” | |
| His mantle of fur, that was round him twined, | |
| With silk of Alexandria lined, | |
| Down at Blancandrin’s feet he cast, | 105 |
| But still he held by his good sword fast, | |
| Grasping the hilt by its golden ball. | |
| “A noble knight,” say the heathens all. | |
| |
XXXVII
Ganelon came to the king once more. | |
| “Your anger,” he said, “misserves you sore. | 110 |
| As the princely Carlemaine saith, I say, | |
| You shall the Christian law obey. | |
| And half of Spain you shall hold in fee, | |
| The other half shall Count Roland’s be, | |
| (And a haughty partner ’tis yours to see). | 115 |
| Reject the treaty I here propose, | |
| Round Saragossa his lines will close; | |
| You shall be bound in fetters strong, | |
| Led to his city of Aix along. | |
| Nor steed nor palfrey shall you bestride, | 120 |
| Nor mule nor jennet be yours to ride; | |
| On a sorry sumpter you shall be cast, | |
| And your head by doom stricken off at last. | |
| So is the Emperor’s mandate traced,”— | |
| And the scroll in the heathen’s hand he placed. | 125 |
| |
XXXVIII
Discolored with ire was King Marsil’s hue; | |
| The seal he brake and to earth he threw, | |
| Read of the scroll the tenor clear. | |
| “So Karl the Emperor writes me here. | |
| Bids me remember his wrath and pain | 130 |
| For sake of Basan and Basil slain, | |
| Whose necks I smote on Haltoia’s hill; | |
| Yet, if my life I would ransom still, | |
| Mine uncle the Algalif must I send, | |
| Or love between us were else at end.” | 135 |
| Then outspake Jurfalez, Marsil’s son: | |
| “This is but madness of Ganelon. | |
| For crime so deadly his life shall pay; | |
| Justice be mine on his head this day.” | |
| Ganelon heard him, and waved his blade, | 140 |
| While his back against a pine he stayed. | |
| |
XXXIX
Into his orchard King Marsil stepped. | |
| His nobles round him their station kept: | |
| There was Jurfalez, his son and heir, | |
| Blancandrin of the hoary hair, | 145 |
| The Algalif, truest of all his kin. | |
| Said Blancandrin, “Summon the Christian in; | |
| His troth he pledged me upon our side.” | |
| “Go,” said Marsil, “be thou his guide.” | |
| Blancandrin led him, hand-in-hand, | 150 |
| Before King Marsil’s face to stand. | |
| Then was the villainous treason planned. | |
| |
XL
“Fair Sir Ganelon,” spake the king, | |
| “I did a rash and despighteous thing, | |
| Raising against thee mine arm to smite. | 155 |
| Richly will I the wrong requite. | |
| See these sables whose worth were told | |
| At full five hundred pounds of gold: | |
| Thine shall they be ere the coming day.” | |
| “I may not,” said Gan, “your grace gainsay. | 160 |
| God in His pleasure will you repay.” | |
| |
XLI
“Trust me I love thee, Sir Gan, and fain | |
| Would I hear thee discourse of Carlemaine. | |
| He is old, methinks, exceedingly old; | |
| And full two hundred years hath told; | 165 |
| With toil his body spent and worn, | |
| So many blows on his buckler borne, | |
| So many a haughty king laid low, | |
| When will he weary of warring so?” | |
| “Such is not Carlemaine,” Gan replied; | 170 |
| “Man never knew him, nor stood beside, | |
| But will say how noble a lord is he, | |
| Princely and valiant in high degree. | |
| Never could words of mine express | |
| His honor, his bounty, his gentleness, | 175 |
| ’Twas God who graced him with gifts so high. | |
| Ere I leave his vassalage I will die.” | |
| |
XLII
The heathen said, “I marvel sore | |
| Of Carlemaine, so old and hoar, | |
| Who counts I ween two hundred years, | 180 |
| Hath borne such strokes of blades and spears, | |
| So many lands hath overrun, | |
| So many mighty kings undone, | |
| When will he tire of war and strife?” | |
| “Not while his nephew breathes in life. | 185 |
| Beneath the cope of heaven this day | |
| Such vassal leads not king’s array. | |
| Gallant and sage is Olivier, | |
| And all the twelve, to Karl so dear, | |
| With twenty thousand Franks in van, | 190 |
| He feareth not the face of man.” | |
| |
XLIII
“Strange,” said Marsil, “seems to me, | |
| Karl, so white with eld is he, | |
| Twice a hundred years, men say, | |
| Since his birth have passed away. | 195 |
| All his wars in many lands, | |
| All the strokes of trenchant brands, | |
| All the kings despoiled and slain,— | |
| When will he from war refrain?” | |
| “Not till Roland breathes no more, | 200 |
| For from hence to eastern shore, | |
| Where is chief with him may vie? | |
| Olivier his comrades by, | |
| And the peers, of Karl the pride, | |
| Twenty thousand Franks beside, | 205 |
| Vanguard of his host, and flower: | |
| Karl may mock at mortal power.” | |
| |
XLIV
“I tell thee, Sir Gan, that a power is mine; | |
| Fairer did never in armor shine, | |
| Four hundred thousand cavaliers, | 210 |
| With the Franks of Karl to measure spears.” | |
| “Fling such folly,” said Gan, “away; | |
| Sorely your heathen would rue the day. | |
| Proffer the Emperor ample prize, | |
| A sight to dazzle the Frankish eyes; | 215 |
| Send him hostages full of score, | |
| So returns he to France once more. | |
| But his rear will tarry behind the host; | |
| There, I trow, will be Roland’s post— | |
| There will Sir Olivier remain. | 220 |
| Hearken to me, and the counts lie slain; | |
| The pride of Karl shall be crushed that day, | |
| And his wars be ended with you for aye.” | |
| |
XLV
“Speak, then, and tell me, Sir Ganelon, | |
| How may Roland to death be done?” | 225 |
| “Through Cizra’s pass will the Emperor wind, | |
| But his rear will linger in march behind; | |
| Roland and Olivier there shall be, | |
| With twenty thousand in company. | |
| Muster your battle against them then, | 230 |
| A hundred thousand heathen men. | |
| Till worn and spent be the Frankish bands, | |
| Though your bravest perish beneath their hands. | |
| For another battle your powers be massed, | |
| Roland will sink, overcome at last. | 235 |
| There were a feat of arms indeed, | |
| And your life from peril thenceforth be freed. | |
| |
XLVI
“For whoso Roland to death shall bring, | |
| From Karl his good right aim will wring, | |
| The marvellous host will melt away, | 240 |
| No more shall be muster a like array, | |
| And the mighty land will in peace repose.” | |
| King Marsil heard him to the close; | |
| Then kissed him on the neck, and bade | |
| His royal treasures be displayed. | 245 |
| |
XLVII
What said they more? Why tell the rest? | |
| Said Marsil, “Fastest bound is best; | |
| Come, swear me here to Roland’s fall.” | |
| “Your will,” said Gan, “be mine in all.” | |
| He swore on the relics in the hilt | 250 |
| Of his sword Murgleis, and crowned his guilt. | |
| |
XLVIII
A stool was there of ivory wrought. | |
| King Marsil bade a book be brought, | |
| Wherein was all the law contained | |
| Mahound and Termagaunt ordained. | 255 |
| The Saracen hath sworn thereby, | |
| If Roland in the rear-guard lie, | |
| With all his men-at-arms to go, | |
| And combat till the count lay low. | |
| Sir Gan repeated, “Be it so.” | 260 |
| |
XLIX
King Marsil’s foster-father came, | |
| A heathen, Valdabrun by name. | |
| He spake to Gan with laughter clear. | |
| “My sword, that never found its peer,— | |
| A thousand pieces would not buy | 265 |
| The riches in the hilt that lie,— | |
| To you I give in guerdon free; | |
| Your aid in Roland’s fall to see, | |
| Let but the rear-guard be his place.” | |
| “I trust,” said Gan, “to do you grace.” | 270 |
| Then each kissed other on the face. | |
| |
L
Next broke with jocund laughter in, | |
| Another heathen, Climorin. | |
| To Gan he said, “Accept my helm, | |
| The best and trustiest in the realm, | 275 |
| Conditioned that your aid we claim | |
| To bring the marchman unto shame.” | |
| “Be it,” said Ganelon, “as you list.” | |
| And then on cheek and mouth they kissed. | |
| |
LI
Now Bramimonde, King Marsil’s queen, | 280 |
| To Ganelon came with gentle mien. | |
| “I love thee well, Sir Count,” she spake, | |
| “For my lord the king and his nobles’ sake. | |
| See these clasps for a lady’s wrist, | |
| Of gold, and jacinth, and amethyst, | 285 |
| That all the jewels of Rome outshine; | |
| Never your Emperor owned so fine; | |
| These by the queen to your spouse are sent.” | |
| The gems within his boot he pent. | |
| |
LII
Then did the king on his treasurer call, | 290 |
| “My gifts for Karl, are they ready all?” | |
| “Yea, sire, seven hundred camels’ load | |
| Of gold and silver well bestowed, | |
| And twenty hostages thereby, | |
| The noblest underneath the sky.” | 295 |
| |
LIII
On Ganelon’s shoulder King Marsil leant. | |
| “Thou art sage,” he said, “and of gallant bent; | |
| But by all thy holiest law deems dear, | |
| Let not they thought from our purpose veer. | |
| Ten mules’ burthen I give to thee | 300 |
| Of gold, the finest of Araby; | |
| Nor ever year henceforth shall pass | |
| But it brings thee riches in equal mass | |
| Take the keys of my city gates, | |
| Take the treasure that Karl awaits— | 305 |
| Render them all; but oh, decide | |
| That Roland in the rear-guard bide; | |
| So may I find him by pass or height, | |
| As I swear to meet him in mortal fight.” | |
| Cried Gan, “Meseemeth too long we stay,” | 310 |
| Sprang on his charger and rode away. | |
| |
LIV
The Emperor homeward hath turned his face, | |
| To Gailne city he marched apace, | |
| (By Roland erst in ruins strown— | |
| Deserted thence it lay and lone, | 315 |
| Until a hundred years had flown). | |
| Here waits he, word of Gan to gain | |
| With tribute of the land of Spain; | |
| And here, at earliest break of day, | |
| Came Gan where the encampment lay. | 320 |
| |
LV
The Emperor rose with the day dawn clear, | |
| Failed not Matins and Mass to hear, | |
| Sate at his tent on the fair green sward, | |
| Roland and Olivier nigh their lord, | |
| Duke Naimes and all his peers of fame. | 325 |
| Gan the felon, the perjured, came— | |
| False was the treacherous tale he gave,— | |
| And these his words, “May God you save! | |
| I bear you Saragossa’s keys, | |
| Vast the treasure I bring with these, | 330 |
| And twenty hostages; guard them well, | |
| The noble Marsil bids me tell— | |
| Not on him shall your anger fall, | |
| If I fetch not the Algalif here withal; | |
| For mine eyes beheld, beneath their ken, | 335 |
| Three hundred thousand armèd men, | |
| With sword and casque and coat of mail, | |
| Put forth with him on the sea to sail, | |
| All for hate of the Christian creed, | |
| Which they would neither hold nor heed. | 340 |
| They had not floated a league but four, | |
| When a tempest down on their galleys bore. | |
| Drowned they lie to be seen no more. | |
| If the Algalif were but living wight, | |
| He had stood this morn before your sight. | 345 |
| Sire, for the Saracen king I say, | |
| Ere ever a month shall pass away, | |
| On into France he will follow free, | |
| Bend to our Christian law the knee, | |
| Homage swear for his Spanish land, | 350 |
| And hold the realm at your command.” | |
| “Now praise to God,” the Emperor said, | |
| “And thanks, my Ganelon, well you sped.” | |
| A thousand clarions then resound, | |
| The sumpter-mules are girt on ground, | 355 |
| For France, for France the Franks are bound. | |
| |
LVI
Karl the Great hath wasted Spain, | |
| Her cities sacked, her castles ta’en; | |
| But now “My wars are done,” he cried, | |
| “And home to gentle France we ride.” | 360 |
| Count Roland plants his standard high | |
| Upon a peak against the sky; | |
| The Franks around encamping lie. | |
| Alas! the heathen host the while, | |
| Through valley deep and dark defile, | 365 |
| Are riding on the Christians’ track, | |
| All armed in steel from breast to back; | |
| Their lances poised, their helmets laced, | |
| Their falchions glittering from the waist, | |
| Their bucklers from the shoulder swung, | 370 |
| And so they ride the steeps among, | |
| Till, in a forest on the height, | |
| They rest to wait the morning light, | |
| Four hundred thousand crouching there. | |
| O God! the Franks are unaware. | 375 |
| |
LVII
The day declined, night darkling crept, | |
| And Karl, the mighty Emperor, slept. | |
| He dreamt a dream: he seemed to stand | |
| In Cizra’s pass, with lance in hand. | |
| Count Ganelon came athwart, and lo, | 380 |
| He wrenched the aspen spear him fro, | |
| Brandished and shook it aloft with might, | |
| Till it brake in pieces before his sight; | |
| High towards heaven the splinters flew; | |
| Karl awoke not, he dreamed anew. | 385 |
| |
LVIII
In his second dream he seemed to dwell | |
| In his palace of Aix, at his own Chapelle. | |
| A bear seized grimly his right arm on, | |
| And bit the flesh to the very bone. | |
| Anon a leopard from Arden wood, | 390 |
| Fiercely flew at him where he stood. | |
| When lo! from his hall, with leap and bound, | |
| Sprang to the rescue a gallant hound. | |
| First from the bear the ear he tore, | |
| Then on the leopard his fangs he bore. | 395 |
| The Franks exclaim, “’Tis a stirring fray, | |
| But who the victor none may say.” | |
| Karl awoke not—he slept alway. | |
| |
LIX
The night wore by, the day dawn glowed, | |
| Proudly the Emperor rose and rode, | 400 |
| Keenly and oft his host he scanned. | |
| “Lords, my barons, survey this land, | |
| See the passes so straight and steep: | |
| To whom shall I trust the rear to keep?” | |
| “To my stepson Roland:” Count Gan replied. | 405 |
| “Knight like him have you none beside.” | |
| The Emperor heard him with moody brow. | |
| “A living demon,” he said, “art thou; | |
| Some mortal rage hath thy soul possessed. | |
| To head my vanguard, who then were best?” | 410 |
| “Ogier,” he answered, “the gallant Dane, | |
| Braver baron will none remain.” | |
| |
LX
Roland, when thus the choice he saw, | |
| Spake, full knightly, by knightly law: | |
| “Sir Stepsire, well may I hold thee dear, | 415 |
| That thou hast named me to guard the rear; | |
| Karl shall lose not, if I take heed, | |
| Charger, or palfrey, or mule or steed, | |
| Hackney or sumpter that groom may lead; | |
| The reason else our swords shall tell.” | 420 |
| “It is sooth,” said Gan, “and I know it well.” | |
| |
LXI
Fiercely once more Count Roland turned | |
| To speak the scorn that in him burned. | |
| “Ha! deem’t thou, dastard, of dastard race, | |
| That I shall drop the glove in place, | 425 |
| As in sight of Karl thou didst the mace?” | |
| |
LXII
Then of his uncle he made demand: | |
| “Yield me the bow that you hold in hand; | |
| Never of me shall the tale be told, | |
| As of Ganelon erst, that it failed my hold.” | 430 |
| Sadly the Emperor bowed his head, | |
| With working finger his beard he spread, | |
| Tears in his own despite he shed. | |
| |
LXIII
But soon Duke Naimes doth by him stand— | |
| No better vassal in all his band. | 435 |
| “You have seen and heard it all, O sire, | |
| Count Roland waxeth much in ire. | |
| On him the choice for the rear-guard fell, | |
| And where is baron could speed so well? | |
| Yield him the bow that your arm hath bent, | 440 |
| And let good succor to him be lent.” | |
| The Emperor reached it forth, and lo! | |
| He gave, and Roland received, the bow. | |
| |
LXIV
“Fair Sir Nephew, I tell thee free. | |
| Half of my host will I leave with thee.” | 445 |
| “God be my judge,” was the count’s reply, | |
| “If ever I thus my race belie. | |
| But twenty thousand with me shall rest, | |
| Bravest of all your Franks and best; | |
| The mountain passes in safety tread, | 450 |
| While I breathe in life you have nought to dread.” | |
| |
LXV
Count Roland sprang to a hill-top’s height, | |
| And donned his peerless armor bright; | |
| Laced his helm, for a baron made; | |
| Girt Durindana, gold-hilted blade; | 455 |
| Around his neck he hung the shield, | |
| With flowers emblazoned was the field; | |
| Nor steed but Veillantif will ride; | |
| And he grasped his lance with its pennon’s pride. | |
| White was the pennon, with rim of gold; | 460 |
| Low to the handle the fringes rolled. | |
| Who are his lovers men now may see; | |
| And the Franks exclaim, “We will follow thee.” | |
| |
LXVI
Roland hath mounted his charger on; | |
| Sir Olivier to his side hath gone; | 465 |
| Gerein and his fellow in arms, Gerier; | |
| Otho the Count, and Berengier, | |
| Samson, and with him Anseis old, | |
| Gerard of Roussillon, the bold. | |
| Thither the Gascon Engelier sped; | 470 |
| “I go,” said Turpin, “I pledge my head;” | |
| “And I with thee,” Count Walter said; | |
| “I am Roland’s man, to his service bound.” | |
| So twenty thousand knights were found. | |
| |
LXVII
Roland beckoned Count Walter then. | 475 |
| “Take of our Franks a thousand men; | |
| Sweep the heights and the passes clear, | |
| That the Emperor’s host may have nought to fear.” | |
| “I go,” said Walter, “at your behest,” | |
| And a thousand Franks around him pressed. | 480 |
| They ranged the heights and passes through, | |
| Nor for evil tidings backward drew, | |
| Until seven hundred swords outflew. | |
| The Lord of Belferna’s land, that day, | |
| King Almaris met him in deadly fray. | 485 |
| |
LXVIII
Through Roncesvalles the march began; | |
| Ogier, the baron, led the van; | |
| For them was neither doubt nor fear, | |
| Since Roland rested to guard the rear, | |
| With twenty thousand in full array: | 490 |
| Theirs the battle—be God their stay. | |
| Gan knows all; in his felon heart | |
| Scarce hath he courage to play his part. | |
| |
LXIX
High were the peaks, and the valleys deep, | |
| The mountains wondrous dark and steep; | 495 |
| Sadly the Franks through the passes wound, | |
| Full fifteen leagues did their tread resound. | |
| To their own great land they are drawing nigh, | |
| And they look on the fields of Gascony. | |
| They think of their homes and their manors there, | 500 |
| Their gentle spouses and damsels fair. | |
| Is none but for pity the tear lets fall; | |
| But the anguish of Karl is beyond them all. | |
| His sister’s son at the gates of Spain | |
| Smites on his heart, and he weeps amain. | 505 |
| |
LXX
On the Spanish marches the twelve abide, | |
| With twice ten thousand Franks beside. | |
| Fear to die have they none, nor care: | |
| But Karl returns into France the fair; | |
| Beneath his mantle his face he hides. | 510 |
| Naimes, the duke, at his bridle rides. | |
| “Say, sire, what grief doth your heart oppress?” | |
| “To ask,” he said, “brings worse distress; | |
| I cannot but weep for heaviness. | |
| By Gan the ruin of France is wrought. | 515 |
| In an angel’s vision, last night, methought | |
| He wrested forth from my hand the spear: | |
| ’Twas he gave Roland to guard the rear. | |
| God! should I lose him, my nephew dear, | |
| Whom I left on a foreign soil behind, | 520 |
| His peer on earth I shall never find!” | |
| |
LXXI
Karl the Great cannot choose but weep, | |
| For him hath his host compassion deep; | |
| And for Roland, a marvellous boding dread. | |
| It was Gan, the felon, this treason bred; | 525 |
| He hath heathen gifts of silver and gold, | |
| Costly raiment, and silken fold, | |
| Horses and camels, and mules and steeds.— | |
| But lo! King Marsil the mandate speeds, | |
| To his dukes, his counts, and his vassals all, | 530 |
| To each almasour and amiral. | |
| And so, before three suns had set, | |
| Four hundred thousand in muster met. | |
| Through Saragossa the tabors sound; | |
| On the loftiest turret they raise Mahound: | 535 |
| Before him the Pagans bend and pray, | |
| Then mount and fiercely ride away, | |
| Across Cerdagna, by vale and height, | |
| Till stream the banners of France in sight, | |
| Where the peers of Carlemaine proudly stand, | 540 |
| And the shock of battle is hard at hand. | |
| |
LXXII
Up to King Marsil his nephew rode, | |
| With a mule for steed, and a staff for goad: | |
| Free and joyous his accents fell, | |
| “Fair Sir King, I have served you well. | 545 |
| So let my toils and my perils tell. | |
| I have fought and vanquished for you in field. | |
| One good boon for my service yield,— | |
| Be it mine on Roland to strike the blow; | |
| At point of lance will I lay him low; | 550 |
| And so Mohammed to aid me deign, | |
| Free will I sweep the soil of Spain, | |
| From the gorge of Aspra to Dourestan, | |
| Till Karl grows weary such wars to plan. | |
| Then for your life have you won repose.” | 555 |
| King Marsil on him his glove bestows. | |
| |
LXXIII
His nephew, while the glove he pressed, | |
| Proudly once more the king addressed. | |
| “Sire, you have crowned my dearest vow; | |
| Name me eleven of your barons now, | 560 |
| In battle against the twelve to bide.” | |
| Falsaron first to the call replied; | |
| Brother to Marsil, the king, was he; | |
| “Fair Sir nephew, I go with thee; | |
| In mortal combat we front, to-day, | 565 |
| The rear-guard of the grand array. | |
| Foredoomed to die by our spears are they.” | |
| |
LXXIV
King Corsablis the next drew nigh, | |
| Miscreant Monarch of Barbary; | |
| Yet he spake like vassal staunch and bold— | 570 |
| Blench would he not for all God’s gold. | |
| The third, Malprimis, of Brigal’s breed, | |
| More fleet of foot than the fleetest steed, | |
| Before King Marsil he raised his cry, | |
| “On unto Roncesvalles I: | 575 |
| In mine encounter shall Roland die.” | |
| |
LXXV
An Emir of Balaguet came in place, | |
| Proud of body, and fair of face; | |
| Since first he sprang on steed to ride, | |
| To wear his harness was all his pride; | 580 |
| For feats of prowess great laud he won; | |
| Were he Christian, nobler baron none. | |
| To Marsil came he, and cried aloud, | |
| “Unto Roncesvalles mine arm is vowed; | |
| May I meet with Roland and Olivier, | 585 |
| Or the twelve together, their doom is near. | |
| The Franks shall perish in scathe and scorn; | |
| Karl the Great, who is old and worn, | |
| Weary shall grow his hosts to lead, | |
| And the land of Spain be for ever freed.” | 590 |
| King Marsil’s thanks were his gracious meed. | |
| |
LXXVI
A Mauritanian Almasour | |
| (Breathed not in Spain such a felon Moor) | |
| Stepped unto Marsil, with braggart boast: | |
| “Unto Roncesvalles I lead my host, | 595 |
| Full twenty thousand, with lance and shield. | |
| Let me meet with Roland upon the field, | |
| Lifelong tears for him Karl shall yield.” | |
| |
LXXVII
Turgis, Count of Tortosa came. | |
| Lord of the city, he bears its name. | 600 |
| Scathe to the Christian to him is best, | |
| And in Marsil’s presence he joined the rest. | |
| To the king he said, “Be fearless found; | |
| Peter of Rome cannot mate Mahound. | |
| If we serve him truly, we win this day; | 605 |
| Unto Roncesvalles I ride straightway. | |
| No power shall Roland from slaughter save: | |
| See the length of my peerless glaive, | |
| That with Durindana to cross I go, | |
| And who the victor, ye then shall know. | 610 |
| Sorrow and shame old Karl shall share, | |
| Crown on earth never more shall wear.” | |
| |
LXXVIII
Lord of Valtierra was Escremis; | |
| Saracen he, and the region his; | |
| He cried to Marsil, amid the throng, | 615 |
| “Unto Roncesvalles I spur along, | |
| The pride of Roland in dust to tread, | |
| Nor shall he carry from thence his head; | |
| Nor Olivier who leads the band. | |
| And of all the twelve is the doom at hand. | 620 |
| The Franks shall perish, and France be lorn, | |
| And Karl of his bravest vassals shorn.” | |
| |
LXXIX
Estorgan next to Marsil hied, | |
| With Estramarin his mate beside. | |
| Hireling traitors and felons they. | 625 |
| Aloud cried Marsil, “My lords, away | |
| Unto Roncesvalles, the pass to gain, | |
| Of my people’s captains ye shall be twain.” | |
| “Sire, full welcome to us the call, | |
| On Roland and Olivier we fall. | 630 |
| None the twelve from their death shall screen, | |
| The swords we carry are bright and keen; | |
| We will dye them red with the hot blood’s vent, | |
| The Franks shall perish and Karl lament. | |
| We will yield all France as your tribute meet. | 635 |
| Come, that the vision your eyes may greet; | |
| The Emperor’s self shall be at your feet.” | |
| |
LXXX
With speed came Margaris—lord was he | |
| Of the land of Sibilie to the sea; | |
| Beloved of dames for his beauty’s sake, | 640 |
| Was none but joy in his look would take, | |
| The goodliest knight of heathenesse,— | |
| And he cried to the king over all the press, | |
| “Sire, let nothing your heart dismay; | |
| I will Roland in Roncesvalles slay, | 645 |
| Nor thence shall Olivier scathless come, | |
| The peers await but their martyrdom. | |
| The Emir of Primis bestowed this blade; | |
| Look on its hilt, with gold inlaid: | |
| It shall crimsoned be with the red blood’s trace: | 650 |
| Death to the Franks, and to France disgrace! | |
| Karl the old, with his beard so white, | |
| Shall have pain and sorrow both day and night; | |
| France shall be ours ere a year go by; | |
| At Saint Denys’ bourg shall our leaguer lie.” | 655 |
| King Marsil bent him reverently. | |
| |
LXXXI
Chernubles is there, from the valley black, | |
| His long hair makes on the earth its track; | |
| A load, when it lists him, he bears in play, | |
| Which four mules’ burthen would well outweigh. | 660 |
| Men say, in the land where he was born | |
| Nor shineth sun, nor springeth corn, | |
| Nor falleth rain, nor droppeth dew; | |
| The very stones are of sable hue. | |
| ’Tis the home of demons, as some assert. | 665 |
| And he cried, “My good sword have I girt, | |
| In Roncesvalles to dye it red. | |
| Let Roland but in my pathway tread, | |
| Trust ye to me that I strike him dead, | |
| His Durindana beat down with mine. | 670 |
| The Franks shall perish and France decline.” | |
| Thus were mustered King Marsil’s peers, | |
| With a hundred thousand heathen spears. | |
| In haste to press to the battle on, | |
| In a pine-tree forest their arms they don. | 675 |
| |
LXXXII
They don their hauberks of Saracen mould, | |
| Wrought for the most with a triple fold; | |
| In Saragossa their helms were made; | |
| Steel of Vienne was each girded blade; | |
| Valentia lances and targets bright, | 680 |
| Pennons of azure and red and white. | |
| They leave their sumpters and mules aside, | |
| Leap on their chargers and serried ride. | |
| Bright was the sunshine and fair the day; | |
| Their arms resplendent gave back the ray. | 685 |
| Then sound a thousand clarions clear, | |
| Till the Franks the mighty clangor hear, | |
| “Sir Comrade,” said Olivier, “I trow | |
| There is battle at hand with the Saracen foe.” | |
| “God grant,” said Roland, “it may be so. | 690 |
| Here our post for our king we hold; | |
| For his lord the vassal bears heat and cold, | |
| Toil and peril endures for him, | |
| Risks in his service both life and limb. | |
| For mighty blows let our arms be strung, | 695 |
| Lest songs of scorn be against us sung. | |
| With the Christian is good, with the heathen ill: | |
| No dastard part shall ye see me fill.” | |
| |
