Note to class: you don't have to print this lengthy document out if you don't want to. It contains excerpts from The Song of Roland, an epic French war poem that recounts (but highly mythologizes) the exploits of the French hero Roland [Rollant in the version below] and his comrades, who had been left behind by Charlemagne, the great French king, to guard a mountain pass in Spain against the invading Muslims (or Sarcens). Read it to get a feel of the action and heroic code governing the Germanic/Christian warrior: this poem concerns events that happened in the 9th century but was composed around the time of the First Crusades with an eye toward inspiring the Christian soldiers who were to re-take the Holy Lands.
Although the mixture of Germanic and Christian elements runs throughout the epic, a particularly vivid example of the fusion can be found in the account of Roland’s heroic death.
LXXXVIII
1110 When Rollant
sees that now must be combat,
More fierce he's found
than lion or leopard;
The Franks he calls,
and Oliver commands:
"Now say no more,
my friends, nor thou, comrade.
That Emperour, who left us Franks on guard,
1115 A thousand score stout men he set apart,
And well he knows, not
one will prove coward.
Man for his lord should
suffer with good heart,
Of bitter cold and
great heat bear the smart,
His blood let drain, and
all his flesh be scarred.
1120 Strike with thy lance, and I with Durendal,
With my good sword that
was the King's reward.
So, if I die, who has
it afterward
Noble vassal's he well
may say it was."
LXXXIX
From the other part
is the Archbishop Turpin,
1125 He pricks his horse and mounts upon a hill;
Calling the Franks,
sermon to them begins:
"My lords barons,
Charles left us here for this;
He is our King, well
may we die for him:
To Christendom good service
offering.
1130
For with your eyes you
see the Sarrazins.
Pray for God's grace,
confessing Him your sins!
For your souls' health,
I'll absolution give
So, though you die,
blest martyrs shall you live,
1135 Thrones you shall win in the great Paradis."
The Franks dismount,
upon the ground are lit.
That Archbishop God's
Benediction gives,
For their penance, good
blows to strike he bids.
XC
The Franks arise,
and stand upon their feet,
1140 They're well absolved, and from their sins
made clean,
And the Archbishop has
signed them with God's seal;
And next they mount
upon their chargers keen;
By rule of knights they
have put on their gear,
For battle all apparelled as is meet.
1145 The count Rollant
calls Oliver, and speaks
"Comrade and
friend, now clearly have you seen
That Guenelun hath got us by deceit;
Gold hath he ta'en; much wealth is his to keep;
That Emperour vengeance for us must wreak.
1150 King Marsilies
hath bargained for us cheap;
At the sword's point he
yet shall pay our meed."
AOI.
XCI
To Spanish pass is Rollanz now going
On Veillantif,
his good steed, galloping;
He is well armed, pride
is in his bearing,
1155 He goes, so brave, his spear in hand
holding,
He goes, its point
against the sky turning;
A gonfalon all white
thereon he's pinned,
Down to his hand
flutters the golden fringe:
Noble his limbs, his
face clear and smiling.
1160 His companion goes after, following,
The men of
Proudly he looks
towards the Sarrazins,
And to the Franks
sweetly, himself humbling;
And courteously has
said to them this thing:
1165 "My lords barons, go now your pace
holding!
Pagans are come great
martyrdom seeking;
Noble and fair reward
this day shall bring,
Was never won by any
Frankish King."
Upon these words the
hosts are come touching.
AOI.
XCII
1170 Speaks Oliver: "No more now will I
say.
Your olifant, to sound it do not deign,
Since from Carlun you'll never more have aid.
He has not heard; no
fault of his, so brave.
Those with him there
are never to be blamed.
1175 So canter on, with what prowess you may!
Lords and barons,
firmly your ground maintain!
Be minded well, I pray
you in God's Name,
Stout blows to strike,
to give as you shall take.
Forget the cry of
Charles we never may."
1180 Upon this word the Franks cry out amain.
Who then had heard them
all "Monjoie!" acclaim
Of vassalage might well
recall the tale.
They canter forth, God!
with what proud parade,
Pricking their spurs,
the better speed to gain;
1185 They go to strike,-- what other thing could
they? --
But Sarrazins
are not at all afraid.
Pagans and Franks, you'ld see them now engaged.
XCIII
Marsile's
nephew, his name is Aelroth,
First of them all
canters before the host,
1190 Says of our Franks these ill words as he
goes:
"Felons of France,
so here on us you close!
Betrayed you has he
that to guard you ought;
Mad is the King who
left you in this post.
So shall the fame of
1195 And the right arm from Charles body
torn."
When Rollant hears, what rage he has, by God!
His steed he spurs,
gallops with great effort;
He goes, that count, to
strike with all his force,
The shield he breaks,
the hauberk's seam unsews,
1200 Slices the heart, and shatters up the
bones,
All of the spine he
severs with that blow,
And with his spear the
soul from body throws
So well he's pinned, he
shakes in the air that corse,
On his spear's hilt
he's flung it from the horse:
1205 So in two halves Aeroth's
neck he broke,
Nor left him yet, they
say, but rather spoke:
"Avaunt, culvert! A madman Charles is not,
No treachery was ever
in his thought.
Proudly he did, who
left us in this post;
1210 The fame of
Strike on, the
Franks! Ours are the foremost blows.
For we are right, but
these gluttons are wrong."
AOI.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
CXXVII
The count Rollanz calls upon Oliver:
"Sir companion,
witness you'll freely bear,
The Archbishop is a
right good chevalier,
None better is neath Heaven anywhere;
1675 Well can he strike with lance and well with
spear."
Answers that count:
"Support to him we'll bear!"
Upon that word the
Franks again make yare;
Hard are the blows,
slaughter and suffering there,
For Christians too, most
bitter grief and care.
1680 Who could had seen Rollanz
and Oliver
With their good swords
to strike and to slaughter!
And the Archbishop lays
on there with his spear.
Those that are dead,
men well may hold them dear.
In charters and in
briefs is written clear,
1685 Four thousand fell, and more, the tales
declare.
Gainst
four assaults easily did they fare,
But then the fifth
brought heavy griefs to bear.
They all are slain,
those Frankish chevaliers;
Only three-score, whom
God was pleased to spare,
1690 Before these die, they'll sell them very
dear.
AOI.
CXXVIII
The count Rollant great loss of his men sees,
His companion Olivier
calls, and speaks:
"Sir and comrade,
in God's Name, That you keeps,
Such good vassals you
see lie here in heaps;
1695 For France the Douce,
fair country, may we weep,
Of such barons long
desolate she'll be.
Ah! King and
friend, wherefore are you not here?
How, Oliver, brother,
can we achieve?
And by what means our
news to him repeat?"
1700 Says Oliver: "I know not how to seek;
Rather I'ld die than shame come of this feat."
AOI.
CXXIX
Then says Rollanz: "I'll wind this olifant,
If Charles hear, where
in the pass he stands,
I pledge you now they
will return, the Franks."
1705 Says Oliver: "Great shame would come
of that
And a reproach on every
one, your clan,
That shall endure while
each lives in the land,
When I implored, you
would not do this act;
Doing it now, no raise
from me you'll have:
1710 So wind your horn but not by courage rash,
Seeing that both your
arms with blood are splashed."
Answers that count:
"Fine blows I've struck them back."
AOI.
CXXX
Then says Rollant: "Strong it is now, our battle;
I'll wind my horn, so
the King hears it, Charles."
1715 Says Oliver: "That act were not a
vassal's.
When I implored you,
comrade, you were wrathful.
Were the King here, we
had not borne such damage.
Nor should we blame
those with him there, his army."
Says Oliver: "Now
by my beard, hereafter
1720 If I may see my gentle sister Alde,
She in her arms, I
swear, shall never clasp you."
AOI.
CXXXI
Then says Rollanz: "Wherefore so wroth with me?"
He answers him:
"Comrade, it was your deed:
Vassalage comes by
sense, and not folly;
1725 Prudence more worth is than stupidity.
Here are Franks dead,
all for your trickery;
No more service to Carlun may we yield.
My lord were here now,
had you trusted me,
And fought and won this
battle then had we,
1730 Taken or slain were the king Marsilie.
In your prowess, Rollanz, no good we've seen!
Charles the great in
vain your aid will seek --
None such as he till
God His Judgement speak; --
Here must you die, and
1735 Here perishes our loyal company,
Before this night great
severance and grief."
AOI.
CXXXII
That Archbishop has
heard them, how they spoke,
His horse he pricks
with his fine spurs of gold,
Coming to them he takes
up his reproach:
1740 "Sir Oliver, and you, Sir Rollant, both,
For God I pray, do not
each other scold!
No help it were to us,
the horn to blow,
But, none the less, it
may be better so;
The King will come, with
vengeance that he owes;
1745 These Spanish men never away shall go.
Our Franks here, each
descending from his horse,
Will find us dead, and
limb from body torn;
They'll take us hence,
on biers and litters borne;
With pity and with
grief for us they'll mourn;
1750 They'll bury each in some old minster-close;
No wolf nor swine nor
dog shall gnaw our bones."
Answers Rollant: "Sir, very well you spoke."
AOI.
CXXXIII
Rollant
hath set the olifant to his mouth,
He grasps it well, and
with great virtue sounds.
1755 High are those peaks, afar it rings and
loud,
Thirty great leagues
they hear its echoes mount.
So Charles heard, and
all his comrades round;
Then said that King:
"
And Guenelun
answered, contrarious:
1760 "That were a lie, in any other
mouth."
AOI.
CXXIV
The Count Rollanz, with sorrow and with pangs,
And with great pain
sounded his olifant:
Out of his mouth the
clear blood leaped and ran,
About his brain the
very temples cracked.
1765 Loud is its voice, that horn he holds in
hand;
Charles hath heard,
where in the pass he stands,
And Neimes
hears, and listen all the Franks.
Then says the King:
"I hear his horn, Rollant's;
He'ld
never sound, but he were in combat."
1770 Answers him Guenes
"It is no battle, that.
Now are you old,
blossoming white and blanched,
Yet by such words you
still appear infant.
You know full well the
great pride of Rollant
Marvel it is, God stays
so tolerant.
1775 Noples he took,
not waiting your command;
Thence issued forth the
Sarrazins, a band
With vassalage had
fought against Rollant;
1777A He slew them first, with Durendal his brand,
Then washed their blood
with water from the land;
So what he'd done might
not be seen of man.
1780 He for a hare goes all day, horn in hand;
Before his peers in
foolish jest he brags.
No race neath heav'n in field him dare
attack.
So canter on!
Nay, wherefore hold we back?
Terra Major is far
away, our land."
AOI.
CXXXV
1785 The count Rollanz,
though blood his mouth doth stain,
And burst are both the
temples of his brain,
His olifant
he sounds with grief and pain;
Charles hath heard,
listen the Franks again.
"That horn,"
the King says, "hath a mighty strain!"
1790 Answers Duke Neimes:
"A baron blows with pain!
He is betrayed, by one
that still doth feign.
Equip you, sir, cry out
your old refrain,
That noble band, go succour them amain!
1795 Enough you've heard how Rollant
doth complain."
CXXVI
That Emperour hath bid them sound their horns.
The Franks dismount,
and dress themselves for war,
Put hauberks on,
helmets and golden swords;
Fine shields they have,
and spears of length and force
1800 Scarlat and blue
and white their ensigns float.
His charger mounts each
baron of the host;
They spur with haste as
through the pass they go.
Nor was there one but
thus to 's neighbour spoke:
"Now, ere he die,
may we see Rollant, so
1805 Ranged by his side we'll give some goodly
blows."
But what avail?
They've stayed too long below.
CCXXXVII
That even-tide is
light as was the day;
Their armour shines beneath the sun's clear ray,
Hauberks and helms
throw off a dazzling flame,
1810 And blazoned shields, flowered in bright
array,
Also their spears, with
golden ensigns gay.
That Emperour, he canters on with rage,
And all the Franks with
wonder and dismay;
There is not one can
bitter tears restrain,
1815 And for Rollant
they're very sore afraid.
The King has bid them
seize that
And charged with him
the scullions of his train;
The master-cook he's
called, Besgun by name:
"Guard me him
well, his felony is plain,
1820 Who in my house vile treachery has
made."
He holds him, and a
hundred others takes
From the kitchen, both
good and evil knaves;
Then Guenes beard and both his cheeks they shaved,
And four blows each
with their closed fists they gave,
1825 They trounced him well with cudgels and
with staves,
And on his neck they
clasped an iron chain;
So like a bear
enchained they held him safe,
On a pack-mule they set
him in his shame:
Kept him till Charles
should call for him again.
AOI.
CXXXVIII
1830 High were the peaks and shadowy and
grand,
The valleys deep, the
rivers swiftly ran.
Trumpets they blew in
rear and in the van,
Till all again answered
that olifant.
That Emperour canters with fury mad,
1835 And all the Franks dismay and wonder have;
There is not one but
weeps and waxes sad
And all pray God that
He will guard Rollant
Till in the field
together they may stand;
There by his side they'll
strike as well they can.
1840 But what avail? No good there is in
that;
They're not in time;
too long have they held back.
AOI.
CXXXIX
In his great rage on
canters Charlemagne;
Over his sark his beard is flowing plain.
Barons of France, in
haste they spur and strain;
1845 There is not one that can his wrath contain
That they are not with Rollant the Captain,
Whereas he fights the Sarrazins of Spain.
If he be struck, will
not one soul remain.
-- God! Sixty men
are all now in his train!
1850 Never a king had better Captains.
AOI.
CXL
Rollant
regards the barren mountain-sides;
Dead men of
And weeps for them as
fits a gentle knight:
"Lords and barons,
may God to you be kind!
1855 And all your souls redeem for
And let you there mid
holy flowers lie!
Better vassals than you
saw never I.
Ever you've served me,
and so long a time,
By you Carlon hath conquered kingdoms wide;
1860 That Emperour
reared you for evil plight!
Douce
Laid desolate by such a
sour exile!
Barons of
And no support, no
warrant could I find;
1865 God be your aid, Who never yet hath lied!
I must not fail now,
brother, by your side;
Save I be slain, for
sorrow shall I die.
Sir companion, let us
again go strike!"
CXLI
The count Rollanz, back to the field then hieing
1870 Holds Durendal,
and like a vassal striking
Faldrun
of Pui has through the middle sliced,
With twenty-four of all
they rated highest;
Was never man, for vengeance
shewed such liking.
Even as a stag before
the hounds goes flying,
1875 Before Rollanz
the pagans scatter, frightened.
Says the Archbishop:
"You deal now very wisely!
Such valour should he shew that is
bred knightly,
And beareth
arms, and a good charger rideth;
In battle should be
strong and proud and sprightly;
1880 Or otherwise he is not worth a shilling,
Should be a monk in one
of those old minsters,
Where, day, by day, he'ld pray for us poor sinners."
Answers Rollant: "Strike on; no quarter give them!"
Upon these words Franks
are again beginning;
1885 Very great loss they suffer then, the
Christians.
CXLII
The man who knows,
for him there's no prison,
In such a fight with
keen defence lays on;
Wherefore the Franks
are fiercer than lions.
Marsile
you'd seen go as a brave baron,
1890 Sitting his horse, the which he calls Gaignon;
He spurs it well, going
to strike Bevon,
That was the lord of Beaune and of Dijon,
His shield he breaks,
his hauberk has undone,
So flings him dead,
without condition;
1895 Next he hath slain Yvoerie
and Ivon,
Also with them Gerard
of Russillon.
The count Rollanz, being not far him from,
To th'pagan
says: "Confound thee our Lord God!
So wrongfully you've
slain my companions,
1900 A blow you'll take, ere we apart be gone,
And of my sword the
name I'll bid you con."
He goes to strike him,
as a brave baron,
And his right hand the
count clean slices off;
Then takes the head of Jursaleu the blond;
1905 That was the son of king Marsilion.
Pagans cry out
"Assist us now, Mahom!
God of our race, avenge
us on Carlon!
Into this land he's
sent us such felons
That will not leave the
fight before they drop."
1910 Says each to each: "Nay let us
fly!" Upon
That word, they're
fled, an hundred thousand gone;
Call them who may,
they'll never more come on.
AOI.
CXLIII
But what
avail? Though fled be Marsilies,
He's left behind his
uncle, the alcaliph
1915 Who holds Alferne,
Kartagene, Garmalie,
And Ethiope,
a cursed land indeed;
The blackamoors
from there are in his keep,
Broad in the nose they
are and flat in the ear,
Fifty thousand and more
in company.
1920 These canter forth with arrogance and heat,
Then they cry out the
pagans' rallying-cheer;
And Rollant
says: "Martyrdom we'll receive;
Not long to live, I
know it well, have we;
Felon he's named that
sells his body cheap!
1925 Strike on, my lords, with burnished swords
and keen;
Contest each inch your
life and death between,
That neer by us Douce France in shame
be steeped.
When Charles my lord
shall come into this field,
Such discipline of Sarrazins he'll see,
1930 For one of ours he'll find them dead
fifteen;
He will not fail, but
bless us all in peace."
AOI.
CXLIV
When Rollant sees those misbegotten men,
Who are more black than
ink is on the pen
With no part white,
only their teeth except,
1935 Then says that count: "I know now very
well
That here to die we're
bound, as I can tell.
Strike on, the
Franks! For so I recommend."
Says Oliver: "Who
holds back, is condemned!"
Upon those words, the
Franks to strike again.
CXLV
1940 Franks are but few; which, when the
pagans know,
Among themselves
comfort and pride they shew;
Says each to each:
"Wrong was that Emperor."
Their alcaliph upon a sorrel rode,
And pricked it well
with both his spurs of gold;
1945 Struck Oliver, behind, on the back-bone,
His hauberk white into
his body broke,
Clean through his
breast the thrusting spear he drove;
After he said:
"You've borne a mighty blow.
Charles the great
should not have left you so;
1950 He's done us wrong, small thanks to him we
owe;
I've well avenged all
ours on you alone."
CXLVI
Oliver feels that he
to die is bound,
Holds Halteclere, whose steel is rough and brown,
Strikes the alcaliph on his helm's golden mount;
1955 Flowers and stones fall clattering to the
ground,
Slices his head, to th'small teeth in his mouth;
So brandishes his blade
and flings him down;
After he says:
"Pagan, accurst be thou!
Thou'lt
never say that Charles forsakes me now;
1960 Nor to thy wife, nor any dame thou'st found,
Thou'lt
never boast, in lands where thou wast crowned,
One pennyworth from me thou'st taken out,
Nor damage wrought on
me nor any around."
After, for aid, "Rollant!" he cries aloud.
AOI.
CXLVII
1965 Oliver feels that death is drawing nigh;
To avenge himself he
hath no longer time;
Through the great press
most gallantly he strikes,
He breaks their spears,
their buckled shields doth slice,
Their feet, their
fists, their shoulders and their sides,
1970 Dismembers them: whoso had seen that sigh,
Dead in the field one
on another piled,
Remember well a vassal
brave he might.
Charles ensign he'll
not forget it quite;
Aloud and clear "Monjoie" again he cries.
1975 To call Rollanz,
his friend and peer, he tries:
"My companion,
come hither to my side.
With bitter grief we
must us now divide."
AOI.
CXLVIII
Then Rollant looked upon Olivier's face;
Which was all wan and colourless and pale,
1980 While the clear blood, out of his body
sprayed,
Upon the ground gushed
forth and ran away.
"God!" said
that count, "What shall I do or say?
My companion, gallant
for such ill fate!
Neer
shall man be, against thee could prevail.
1985 Ah!
Of vassals brave,
confounded and disgraced!
Our Emperour
shall suffer damage great."
And with these words
upon his horse he faints.
AOI.
CXLIX
You'd seen Rollant aswoon there in his seat,
1990 And Oliver, who unto death doth bleed,
So much he's bled, his
eyes are dim and weak;
Nor clear enough his
vision, far or near,
To recognise
whatever man he sees;
His companion, when
each the other meets,
1995 Above the helm jewelled
with gold he beats,
Slicing it down from
there to the nose-piece,
But not his head; he's
touched not brow nor cheek.
At such a blow Rollant regards him keen,
And asks of him, in
gentle tones and sweet:
2000 "To do this thing, my comrade, did you
mean?
This is Rollanz, who ever held you dear;
And no mistrust was
ever us between."
Says Oliver: "Now
can I hear you speak;
I see you not: may the
Lord God you keep!
2005 I struck you now: and for your pardon
plead."
Answers Rollanz: "I am not hurt, indeed;
I pardon you, before
God's Throne and here."
Upon these words, each
to the other leans;
And in such love you
had their parting seen.
CL
2010 Oliver feels death's anguish on him now;
And in his head his two
eyes swimming round;
Nothing he sees; he
hears not any sound;
Dismounting then, he
kneels upon the ground,
Proclaims his sins both
firmly and aloud,
2015 Clasps his two hands, heavenwards holds
them out,
Prays God himself in
Paradise to allow;
Blessings on Charles,
and on Douce France he vows,
And his comrade, Rollanz, to whom he's bound.
Then his heart fails;
his helmet nods and bows;
2020 Upon the earth he lays his whole length
out:
And he is dead, may
stay no more, that count.
Rollanz
the brave mourns him with grief profound;
Nowhere on earth so sad
a man you'd found.
CLI
So Rollant's friend is dead whom when he sees
2025 Face to the ground, and biting it with's teeth,
Begins to mourn in
language very sweet:
"Unlucky, friend,
your courage was indeed!
Together we have spent
such days and years;
No harmful thing twixt
thee and me has been.
2030 Now thou art dead, and all my life a
grief."
And with these words
again he swoons, that chief,
Upon his horse, which
he calls Veillantif;
Stirrups of gold
support him underneath;
He cannot fall, whichever
way he lean.
CLII
2035 Soon as Rollant
his senses won and knew,
Recovering and turning
from that swoon.
Bitter great loss
appeared there in his view:
Dead are the Franks;
he'd all of them to lose,
Save the Archbishop, and
save Gualter del Hum;
2040 He is come down out of the mountains, who
Gainst
Spanish men made there a great ado;
Dead are his men, for
those the pagans slew;
Will he or nill, along the vales he flew,
And called Rollant, to bring him succour
soon:
2045 "Ah! Gentle count, brave
soldier, where are you?
For By thy side no fear
I ever knew.
Gualter
it is, who conquered Maelgut,
And nephew was to hoary
old Drouin;
My vassalage thou ever thoughtest good.
2050 Broken my spear, and split my shield in
two;
Gone is the mail that
on my hauberk grew;
This body of mine eight
lances have gone through;
I'm dying. Yet
full price for life I took."
Rollant
has heard these words and understood,
2055 Has spurred his horse, and on towards him
drew.
AOI.
CLIII
Grief gives Rollanz intolerance and pride;
Through the great press
he goes again to strike;
To slay a score of
Spaniards he contrives,
Gualter
has six, the Archbishop other five.
2060 The pagans say: "Men, these, of felon
kind!
Lordings,
take care they go not hence alive!
Felon he's named that
does not break their line,
Recreant, who lets them
any safety find!"
And so once more begin
the hue and cry,
2065 From every part they come to break the
line.
AOI.
CLI
Count Rollant is a noble and brave soldier,
Gualter
del Hum's a right good chevalier,
That Archbishop hath shewn good prowess there;
None of them falls
behind the other pair;
2070 Through the great press, pagans they strike
again.
Come on afoot a
thousand Sarrazens,
And on horseback some
forty thousand men.
But well I know, to
approach they never dare;
Lances and spears they
poise to hurl at them,
2075 Arrows, barbs, darts and javelins in the
air.
With the first flight
they've slain our Gualtier;
Turpin of Reims has all his shield broken,
And cracked his helm;
he's wounded in the head,
From his hauberk the
woven mail they tear,
2080 In his body four spear-wounds doth he bear;
Beneath him too his
charger's fallen dead.
Great grief it was,
when that Archbishop fell.
AOI.
CLV
Turpin of Reims hath felt himself undone,
Since that four spears
have through his body come;
2085 Nimble and bold upon his feet he jumps;
Looks for Rollant, and then towards him runs,
Saying this word:
"I am not overcome.
While life remains, no
good vassal gives up."
He's drawn Almace, whose steel was brown and rough,
2090 Through the great press a thousand blows
he's struck:
As Charles said,
quarter he gave to none;
He found him there,
four hundred else among,
Wounded the most,
speared through the middle some,
Also there were from
whom the heads he'd cut:
2095 So tells the tale, he that was there says
thus,
The brave Saint Giles,
whom God made marvellous,
Who charters wrote for th' Minster at Loum;
Nothing he's heard that
does not know this much.
CLVI
The count Rollanz has nobly fought and well,
2100 But he is hot, and all his body sweats;
Great pain he has, and
trouble in his head,
His temples burst when
he the horn sounded;
But he would know if
Charles will come to them,
Takes the olifant, and feebly sounds again.
2105 That Emperour
stood still and listened then:
"My lords,"
said he, "Right evilly we fare!
This day Rollanz, my nephew shall be dead:
I hear his horn, with
scarcely any breath.
Nimbly canter, whoever
would be there!
2110 Your trumpets sound, as many as ye
bear!"
Sixty thousand so loud
together blare,
The mountains ring, the
valleys answer them.
The pagans hear, they
think it not a jest;
Says each to each:
"Carlum doth us bestead."
AOI.
CLVII
2115 The pagans say: "That Emperour's at hand,
We hear their sound,
the trumpets of the Franks;
If Charles come, great
loss we then shall stand,
And wars renewed,
unless we slay Rollant;
All Spain we'll lose,
our own clear father-land."
2120 Four hundred men of them in helmets stand;
The best of them that
might be in their ranks
Make on Rollanz a grim and fierce attack;
Gainst
these the count had well enough in hand.
AOI.
CLVIII
The count Rollanz, when their approach he sees
2125 Is grown so bold and manifest and fierce
So long as he's alive
he will not yield.
He sits his horse,
which men call Veillantif,
Pricking him well with
golden spurs beneath,
Through the great press
he goes, their line to meet,
2130 And by his side is the Archbishop Turpin.
"Now, friend, begone!" say pagans, each to each;
"These Frankish
men, their horns we plainly hear
Charle
is at hand, that King in Majesty."
CLIX
The count Rollanz has never loved cowards,
2135 Nor arrogant, nor men of evil heart,
Nor chevalier that was
not good vassal.
That Archbishop, Turpins, he calls apart:
"Sir, you're
afoot, and I my charger have;
For love of you, here
will I take my stand,
2140 Together we'll endure things good and bad;
I'll leave you not, for
no incarnate man:
We'll give again these
pagans their attack;
The better blows are
those from Durendal."
Says the Archbishop:
"Shame on him that holds back!
2145 Charle is at
hand, full vengeance he'll exact."
CLX
The pagans say:
"Unlucky were we born!
An evil day for us did
this day dawn!
For we have lost our
peers and all our lords.
Charles his great host
once more upon us draws,
2150 Of Frankish men we plainly hear the horns,
"Monjoie " they cry, and great is their uproar.
The count Rollant is of such pride and force
He'll never yield to
man of woman born;
Let's aim at him, then
leave him on the spot!"
2155 And aim they did: with arrows long and
short,
Lances and spears and
feathered javelots;
Count Rollant's shield they've broken through and bored,
The woven mail have
from his hauberk torn,
But not himself,
they've never touched his corse;
2160 Veillantif is in
thirty places gored,
Beneath the count he's
fallen dead, that horse.
Pagans are fled, and
leave him on the spot;
The count Rollant stands on his feet once more.
AOI.
CLXI
Pagans are fled, enangered and enraged,
2165 Home into Spain with speed they make their
way;
The count Rollanz, he has not given chase,
For Veillantif,
his charger, they have slain;
Will he or nill, on foot he must remain.
To the Archbishop, Turpins, he goes with aid;
2I70 He's from his head the golden helm unlaced,
Taken from him his
white hauberk away,
And cut the gown in
strips, was round his waist;
On his great wounds the
pieces of it placed,
Then to his heart has
caught him and embraced;
2175 On the green grass he has him softly laid,
Most sweetly then to
him has Rollant prayed:
"Ah! Gentle
sir, give me your leave, I say;
Our companions, whom we
so dear appraised,
Are now all dead; we cannot
let them stay;
2180 I will go seek and bring them to this
place,
Arrange them here in
ranks, before your face."
Said the Archbishop:
"Go, and return again.
This field is yours and
mine now; God be praised!"
CLXII
So Rollanz turns; through the field, all alone,
2185 Searching the vales and mountains, he is
gone;
He finds Gerin, Gerers his companion,
Also he finds Berenger and Otton,
There too he finds Anseis and Sanson,
And finds Gerard the
old, of Rossillon;
2190 By one and one he's taken those barons,
To the Archbishop with
each of them he comes,
Before his knees
arranges every one.
That Archbishop, he
cannot help but sob,
He lifts his hand,
gives benediction;
2195 After he's said: "Unlucky, Lords, your
lot!
But all your souls
He'll lay, our Glorious God,
In Paradise, His holy
flowers upon!
For my own death such
anguish now I've got;
I shall not see him,
our rich Emperor."
CLXIII
2200 So Rollant
turns, goes through the field in quest;
His companion Olivier
finds at length;
He has embraced him
close against his breast,
To the Archbishop
returns as he can best;
Upon a shield he's laid
him, by the rest;
2205 And the Archbishop has them absolved and
blest:
Whereon his grief and
pity grow afresh.
Then says Rollanz: "Fair comrade Olivier,
You were the son of the
good count Reinier,
Who held the march by th' Vale of Runier;
2210 To shatter spears, through buckled shields
to bear,
And from hauberks the
mail to break and tear,
Proof men to lead, and
prudent counsel share,
Gluttons in field to
frighten and conquer,
No land has known a
better chevalier."
CLXIV
2215 The count Rollanz,
when dead he saw his peers,
And Oliver, he held so
very dear,
Grew tender, and began
to shed a tear;
Out of his face the colour disappeared;
No longer could he
stand, for so much grief,
2220 Will he or nill,
he swooned upon the field.
Said the Archbishop:
"Unlucky lord, indeed!"
CLXV
When the Archbishop
beheld him swoon, Rollant,
Never before such
bitter grief he'd had;
Stretching his hand, he
took that olifant.
2225 Through Rencesvals
a little river ran;
He would go there,
fetch water for Rollant.
Went step by step, to
stumble soon began,
So feeble he is, no
further fare he can,
For too much blood he's
lost, and no strength has;
2230 Ere he has crossed an acre of the land,
His heart grows faint,
he falls down forwards and
Death comes to him with
very cruel pangs.
CLXVI
The count Rollanz wakes from his swoon once more,
Climbs to his feet; his
pains are very sore;
2235 Looks down the vale, looks to the hills
above;
On the green grass,
beyond his companions,
He sees him lie, that
noble old baron;
'Tis
the Archbishop, whom in His name wrought God;
There he proclaims his
sins, and looks above;
2240 Joins his two hands, to Heaven holds them
forth,
And Paradise prays God
to him to accord.
Dead is Turpin, the
warrior of Charlon.
In battles great and
very rare sermons
Against pagans ever a
champion.
2245 God grant him now His Benediction!
AOI.
The count Rollant sees the Archbishop lie dead,
Sees the bowels out of
his body shed,
And sees the brains
that surge from his forehead;
Between his two
arm-pits, upon his breast,
2250 Crossways he folds those hands so white and
fair.
Then mourns aloud, as
was the custom there:
"Thee, gentle sir,
chevalier nobly bred,
To the Glorious
Celestial I commend;
Neer
shall man be, that will Him serve so well;
2255 Since the Apostles was never such prophet,
To hold the laws and
draw the hearts of men.
Now may your soul no
pain nor sorrow ken,
Finding the gates of
CLXVIII
Then Rollanz feels that death to him draws near,
2260 For all his brain is issued from his ears;
He prays to God that He
will call the peers,
Bids Gabriel, the
angel, t' himself appear.
Takes the olifant, that no reproach shall hear,
And Durendal
in the other hand he wields;
2265 Further than might a cross-bow's arrow
speed
Goes towards Spain into
a fallow-field;
Climbs on a cliff;
where, under two fair trees,
Four terraces, of
marble wrought, he sees.
There he falls down,
and lies upon the green;
2270 He swoons again, for death is very near.
CLXIX
High are the peaks,
the trees are very high.
Four terraces of
polished marble shine;
On the green grass
count Rollant swoons thereby.
A Sarrazin
him all the time espies,
2275 Who feigning death among the others hides;
Blood hath his face and
all his body dyed;
He gets afoot, running
towards him hies;
Fair was he, strong and
of a courage high;
A mortal hate he's
kindled in his pride.
2280 He's seized Rollant,
and the arms, were at his side,
"Charles
nephew," he's said, "here conquered lies.
To Araby
I'll bear this sword as prize."
As he drew it,
something the count descried.
CLXX
So Rollant felt his sword was taken forth,
2285 Opened his eyes, and this word to him spoke
"Thou'rt never one of ours, full well I know."
Took the olifant, that he would not let go,
Struck him on th' helm, that jewelled was with
gold,
And broke its steel,
his skull and all his bones,
2290 Out of his head both the two eyes he drove;
Dead at his feet he has
the pagan thrown:
After he's said:
"Culvert, thou wert too bold,
Or right or wrong, of
my sword seizing hold!
They'll dub thee fool,
to whom the tale is told.
2295 But my great one, my olifant
I broke;
Fallen from it the
crystal and the gold."
CLXXI
Then Rollanz feels that he has lost his sight,
Climbs to his feet,
uses what strength he might;
In all his face the colour is grown white.
2300 In front of him a great brown boulder lies;
Whereon ten blows with
grief and rage he strikes;
The steel cries out,
but does not break outright;
And the count says:
"Saint Mary, be my guide
Good Durendal, unlucky is your plight!
2305 I've need of you no more; spent is my
pride!
We in the field have
won so many fights,
Combating through so
many regions wide
That Charles holds,
whose beard is hoary white!
Be you not his that
turns from any in flight!
2310 A good vassal has held you this long time;
Never shall
CLXXII
Rollant
hath struck the sardonyx terrace;
The steel cries out,
but broken is no ways.
So when he sees he
never can it break,
2315 Within himself begins he to complain:
"Ah! Durendal, white art thou, clear of stain!
Beneath the sun
reflecting back his rays!
In Moriane
was Charles, in the vale,
When from heaven God by
His angel bade
2320 Him give thee to a count and capitain;
Girt thee on me that
noble King and great.
I won for him with thee
Anjou, Bretaigne,
And won for him with
thee Peitou, the Maine,
And Normandy the free
for him I gained,
2325 Also with thee Provence
and Equitaigne,
And Lumbardie
and all the whole Romaigne,
I won Baivere, all Flanders in the plain,
Also Burguigne and all the whole Puillane,
Costentinnople,
that homage to him pays;
2330 In Saisonie all
is as he ordains;
With thee I won him
Scotland, Ireland, Wales,
England also, where he
his chamber makes;
Won I with thee so many
countries strange
That Charles holds,
whose beard is white with age!
2335 For this sword's sake sorrow upon me
weighs,
Rather I'ld die, than it mid pagans stay.
Lord God Father, never
let
CLXXIII
Rollant
his stroke on a dark stone repeats,
And more of it breaks
off than I can speak.
2340 The sword cries out, yet breaks not in the
least,
Back from the blow into
the air it leaps.
Destroy it can he not;
which when he sees,
Within himself he makes
a plaint most sweet.
"Ah! Durendal, most holy, fair indeed!
2345 Relics enough thy golden hilt conceals:
Saint Peter's Tooth,
the Blood of Saint Basile,
Some of the Hairs of my
Lord, Saint Denise,
Some of the Robe, was
worn by Saint Mary.
It is not right that
pagans should thee seize,
2350 For Christian men your use shall ever be.
Nor any man's that worketh cowardice!
Many broad lands with
you have I retrieved
Which Charles holds,
who hath the great white beard;
Wherefore that King so
proud and rich is he."
CLXXIV
2355 But Rollant
felt that death had made a way
Down from his head till
on his heart it lay;
Beneath a pine running
in haste he came,
On the green grass he
lay there on his face;
His olifant
and sword beneath him placed,
2360 Turning his head towards the pagan race,
Now this he did, in
truth, that Charles might say
(As he desired) and all
the Franks his race; --
'Ah, gentle count;
conquering he was slain!' --
He owned his faults
often and every way,
2365 And for his sins his glove to God upraised.
AOI.
CLXXV
But Rollant feels he's no more time to seek;
Looking to
And with one hand upon
his breast he beats:
"Mea Culpa!
God, by Thy Virtues clean
2370 Me from my sins, the mortal and the mean,
Which from the hour
that I was born have been
Until this day, when
life is ended here!"
Holds out his glove
towards God, as he speaks
Angels descend from
heaven on that scene.
AOI.
CLXXVI
2375 The count Rollanz,
beneath a pine he sits,;
Turning his eyes
towards Spain, he begins
Remembering so many
divers things:
So many lands where he
went conquering,
And France the Douce, the heroes of his kin,
2380 And Charlemagne, his lord who nourished
him.
Nor can he help but
weep and sigh at this.
But his own self, he's
not forgotten him,
He owns his faults, and
God's forgiveness bids:
"Very Father, in
Whom no falsehood is,
2385 Saint Lazaron
from death Thou didst remit,
And Daniel save from
the lions' pit;
My soul in me preserve
from all perils
And from the sins I did
in life commit!"
His right-hand glove,
to God he offers it
2390 Saint Gabriel from's
hand hath taken it.
Over his arm his head
bows down and slips,
He joins his hands: and
so is life finish'd.
God sent him down His
angel cherubin,
And Saint Michael, we
worship in peril;
2395 And by their side Saint Gabriel alit;
So the count's soul
they bare to Paradis.