National Epics Part 30

Roland put his horn to his lips and blew with such force that his temples burst and the crimson blood poured forth from his mouth. Three times he sounded his horn, and each time the sound brought anguish to the heart of Carle, who heard it, riding thirty leagues away. "Our men make battle!"

cried he; but this Ganelon hastened to deny, insisting that Roland was but hunting and blowing the horn, taking sport among the peers. But Duke Naimes exclaimed, "Your nephew is in sore distress. He who would deceive you is a traitor. Haste! Shout your war-cry, and let us return to the battle-field. You yourself hear plainly his call for help!"

Commanding Ganelon to be seized and given to the scullions of his house to be kept for punishment until his return, Carle ordered his men to arm and return to Roncesvalles, that they might, if possible, save the lives of the n.o.ble peers. All the army wept aloud as they thought of the doom of Roland. High were the mountains, deep the valleys, swift the rus.h.i.+ng streams. The French rode on, answering the sound of the olifant; the emperor rode, filled with grief and rage; the barons spurred their horses, but in vain.

After Roland had sounded the horn he again grasped Durendal, and, mounted on his horse Veillantif, scoured the battle-field, cutting down the heathen. But still their troops pressed him, and when he saw the Ethiopian band led by the uncle of Marsile, he knew his doom had come. Olivier, riding forth to meet the accursed band, received his death-wound from the Kalif, but lived to cut his enemy down, and call Roland to him. Alas!

sight had forsaken his eyes, and as he sat on his steed he lifted his bright sword Halteclere, and struck Roland a fearful blow that clove his crest but did not touch his head. "Was the blow meant for me, my comrade?"

asked Roland softly. "Nay, I can see no more. G.o.d pity me! Pardon me, my friend!" and as the two embraced each other, Olivier fell dead.

Then, in the agony of his grief, Roland fainted, sitting firm in his saddle, and again recovering consciousness, became aware of the terrible losses of the French. Only himself, the archbishop, and the gallant Gaultier de l'Hum were left to defend the honor of the French. After Gaultier fell, Roland, una.s.sisted save by Turpin, who fought transfixed by four spear shafts, put the enemy to flight. Feeling his death wounds, Roland besought Turpin to let him bring together the bodies of his fallen comrades that they might receive the blessing of the archbishop. Weak and trembling from loss of blood, Roland pa.s.sed to and fro over the corpse-bestrewn field, and gathered together his comrades: here, Gerin and Gerier, Berengier and Otun; there, Anseis, Samsun, and Gerard de Roussillon, and last of all, his beloved Olivier, and placing them before the knees of Turpin, he saw them receive his blessing.

In his great grief at the sight of the dead Olivier, Roland again fainted, and Turpin hastened to a little brook near by for water to revive him. But the strain was too great for his already weakened body, and, when Roland revived, it was to find the archbishop dead.

Then Roland, realizing that his hour, too, had come, sought out a place in which to die. Upon a hill between two lofty trees, where was a marble terrace, he placed himself with his head towards the enemy's country; and there a Saracen, who had feigned death to escape it, tried to wrest from him his beloved Durendal.

Roland crushed the pagan's head with his olifant, but now he was troubled, for he feared that his sword would fall into other than Christian hands.

Ill could he bear to be parted from his beloved sword. Its golden hilt contained rare relics,--a tooth of Saint Peter, blood, hair, and bones of other saints, and by the strength of these holy relics it had conquered vast realms. Ten and more mighty blows he struck with Durendal upon the hard rock of the terrace, in the endeavor to break it; but it neither broke nor blunted. Then, counting over his great victories, he placed it and the olifant beneath him, and committed his soul to the Father, who sent down his angels to bear it to Paradise.

When the French army, led by Charlemagne, found the pa.s.ses heaped high with the bodies of the dead and no living soul to tell the story of the slaughter, they wept, and many fell swooning to the earth. But the enraged Charlemagne, unwilling then to give time for mourning, spurred on his soldiers, overtook the fleeing enemy, and drove them into the Ebro, so that those who survived the sword, perished by the wave. Then, returning to the field of Roncesvalles, he wept over his beloved Roland and the peers.

Great was his grief; handfuls of hair he tore from his head, and many times wished that his soul were in Paradise, and his body beside that of Roland. He commanded that the hearts of Roland, Olivier, and Turpin be taken from their bodies, wrapped, and inurned, and the bodies borne home in chariots. The bodies of the others were gathered together in one tomb, and a.s.soiled and blessed by the priests who accompanied the army.

As Charlemagne prepared to start for France, he saw a new army approaching. The aged Emir Baligant, from Babylon, who had long ago been summoned by Marsile, had just arrived in Saragossa, and hastened forth to meet Charlemagne. The emir's army was countless, and Charlemagne's was weakened by its great loss. But the thought of the slaughtered peers spurred on the French, and with great Carle for their leader, they quickly put the pagans to flight.

The Franks pursued the enemy to Saragossa, where the wounded Marsile expired on hearing of his defeat. The city was taken, its inhabitants either slain, or converted and baptized, and Queen Bramimunde taken to France to be won to the true faith by gentler means.

When Charlemagne entered his stately palace at Aix, he was met by the fair lady Aude.

"Where is Roland, my betrothed?"

Carle wept, tearing his white beard.

"Thou askest of one who is no more. But in his place I will give thee my son. I can do no better."

"Nay, G.o.d forbid that I should live if Roland is dead;" and so saying, Aude, the beautiful, fell dead at the feet of the emperor.

From all his lands Carle summoned men to Aix for the trial of Ganelon.

"Judge him according to the law, my barons," said the king. "He lost me twenty thousand of my Franks. My nephew Roland, Olivier, my twelve peers, he sold."

"My king," pleaded Ganelon, "call it not treason. I was ever loyal to you.

I thought not of gain, but of revenge against my rebellious and haughty step-son."

The sentiment of many was with Ganelon, and Pinabel offered to fight for him against Thierri, the champion of the king. Thirty knights of his kin gave themselves as legal sureties of his pledge, and the combat began.

Pinabel was conquered and slain, and Ganelon was condemned to be torn to pieces by wild horses. His thirty sureties were also compelled to suffer death.

Ganelon was punished; Bramimunde was made a Christian, and the emperor thought at last to have peace. But as night fell and he sought rest in his lofty room, Gabriel appeared to him.

"Summon thy hosts and march into Bire to succor King Vivien. The Christians look to thee for help."

The king wept and tore his beard. "So troubled is my life!" said he.

SELECTIONS FROM THE SONG OF ROLAND.

THE HORN.

The Rear Guard of the French army, left behind at Roncesvalles, under Roland, was attacked by a great host of Moors. In the beginning of the battle Olivier besought Roland to recall the emperor by blowing the olifant, whose sound could be heard for many leagues, but Roland refused.

But when he saw the overwhelming forces of the Moors, and the field strewn with the corpses of the French, he resolved to blow the horn.

Seeing so many warriors fall'n around, Rolland unto his comrade Olivier Spoke thus: "Companion fair and dear, for G.o.d Whose blessing rests on you, those va.s.sals true And brave lie corses on the battle-field: Look! We must mourn for France so sweet and fair, From henceforth widowed of such valiant knights.

Carle, 'would you were amongst us, King and friend!

What can we do, say, brother Olivier, To bring him news of this sore strait of ours!"

Olivier answers: "I know not; but this I know; for us is better death than shame."

Aoi.

Rolland says: "I will blow mine olifant, And Carle will hear it from the pa.s.s. I pledge My word the French at once retrace their steps."

Said Olivier: "This a great shame would be, One which to all your kindred would bequeathe A lifetime's stain. When this I asked of you, You answered nay, and would do naught. Well, now With my consent you shall not;--if you blow Your horn, of valor true you show no proof.

Already, both your arms are drenched with blood."

Responds the count: "These arms have n.o.bly struck."

Aoi.

"The strife is rude," Rolland says; "I will blow My horn, that Carle may hear."--Said Olivier: "This would not courage be. What I desired, Companion, you disdained. Were the king here, Safe would we be, but yon brave men are not To blame."--"By this my beard," said Olivier, "I swear, if ever I see again sweet Aude, My sister, in her arms you ne'er shall lie."

Aoi.

Rolland asked Olivier--"Why show to me Your anger, friend?"--"Companion, yours the fault; True courage means not folly. Better far Is prudence than your valiant rage. Our French Their lives have lost, your rashness is the cause.

And now our arms can never more give Carle Their service good. Had you believed your friend, Amongst us would he be, and ours the field, The King Marsile, a captive or a corse.

Rolland, your valor brought ill fortune, nor Shall Carle the great e'er more our help receive, A man unequalled till G.o.d's judgment-day.

Here shall you die, and dying, humble France, . . .

This day our loyal friends.h.i.+p ends--ere falls The Vesper-eve, dolorously we part!"

Aoi.

The archbishop heard their strife. In haste he drives Into his horse his spurs of purest gold, And quick beside them rides. Then chiding them, Says: "Sire Rolland, and you, Sire Olivier, In G.o.d's name be no feud between you two; No more your horn shall save us; nathless't were Far better Carle should come and soon avenge Our deaths. So joyous then these Spanish foes Would not return. But as our Franks alight, Find us, or slain or mangled on the field, They will our bodies on their chargers' backs Lift in their shrouds with grief and pity, all In tears, and bury us in holy ground: And neither wolves, nor swine, nor curs shall feed On us--" Replied Rolland: "Well have you said."

Rolland raised to his lips the olifant, Drew a deep breath, and blew with all his force.

High are the mountains, and from peak to peak The sound re-echoes; thirty leagues away 'T was heard by Carle and all his brave compeers.

Cried the king: "Our men make battle!" Ganelon Retorts in haste: "If thus another dared To speak, we should denounce it as a lie."

Aoi.

The Count Rolland in his great anguish blows His olifant so mightily, with such Despairing agony, his mouth pours forth The crimson blood, and his swol'n temples burst.

Yea, but so far the ringing blast resounds; Carle hears it, marching through the pa.s.s, Naimes harks, The French all listen with attentive ear.

"That is Rolland's horn!" Carle cried, "which ne'er yet Was, save in battle, blown!" But Ganelon Replies: "No fight is there! you, sire, are old, Your hair and beard are all bestrewn with gray, And as a child your speech. Well do you know Rolland's great pride. 'Tis marvellous G.o.d bears With him so long. Already took he n.o.ble Without your leave. The pagans left their walls And fought Rolland, your brave knight, in the field; With his good blade he slew them all, and then Washed all the plain with water, that no trace Of blood was left--yea, oftentimes he runs After a hare all day and blows his horn.

Doubtless he takes his sport now with his peers; And who 'neath Heav'n would dare attack Rolland?

None, as I deem. Nay, sire, ride on apace; Why do you halt? Still far is the Great Land."

Aoi.