READ STUDY GUIDE: Laisses 177-188 |
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Section 7:
Laisses 177-188
Laisses 177-188
| CLXXVII |
| Rollant is dead; his soul to heav'n God bare. |
| That Emperour to Rencesvals doth fare. |
| There was no path nor passage anywhere |
| Nor of waste ground no ell nor foot to spare |
| Without a Frank or pagan lying there. |
| Charles cries aloud: "Where are you, nephew fair? |
| Where's the Archbishop and that count Oliviers? |
| Where is Gerins and his comrade Gerers? |
| Otes the Duke, and the count Berengiers |
| And Ivorie, and Ive, so dear they were? |
| What is become of Gascon Engelier, |
| Sansun the Duke and Anseis the fierce? |
| Where's old Gerard of Russillun; oh, where |
| The dozen peers I left behind me here?" |
| But what avail, since none can answer bear? |
| "God!" says the King, "Now well may I despair, |
| I was not here the first assault to share!" |
| Seeming enraged, his beard the King doth tear. |
| Weep from their eyes barons and chevaliers, |
| A thousand score, they swoon upon the earth; |
| Duke Neimes for them was moved with pity rare. |
| CLXXVIII |
| No chevalier nor baron is there, who |
| Pitifully weeps not for grief and dule; |
| They mourn their sons, their brothers, their nephews, |
| And their liege lords, and trusty friends and true; |
| Upon the ground a many of them swoon. |
| Thereon Duke Neimes doth act with wisdom proof, |
| First before all he's said to the Emperour: |
| "See beforehand, a league from us or two, |
| From the highways dust rising in our view; |
| Pagans are there, and many them, too. |
| Canter therefore! Vengeance upon them do!" |
| "Ah, God!" says Charles, "so far are they re-moved! |
| Do right by me, my honour still renew! |
| They've torn from me the flower of France the Douce." |
| The King commands Gebuin and Otun, |
| Tedbalt of Reims, also the count Milun: |
| "Guard me this field, these hills and valleys too, |
| Let the dead lie, all as they are, unmoved, |
| Let not approach lion, nor any brute, |
| Let not approach esquire, nor any groom; |
| For I forbid that any come thereto, |
| Until God will that we return anew." |
| These answer him sweetly, their love to prove: |
| "Right Emperour, dear Sire, so will we do." |
| A thousand knights they keep in retinue. |
 AOI. |
| CLXXIX |
| That Emperour bids trumpets sound again, |
| Then canters forth with his great host so brave. |
| Of Spanish men, whose backs are turned their way, |
| Franks one and all continue in their chase. |
| When the King sees the light at even fade, |
| On the green grass dismounting as he may, |
| He kneels aground, to God the Lord doth pray |
| That the sun's course He will for him delay, |
| Put off the night, and still prolong the day. |
| An angel then, with him should reason make, |
| Nimbly enough appeared to him and spake: |
| "Charles, canter on! Light needst not thou await. |
| The flower of France, as God knows well, is slain; |
| Thou canst be avenged upon that crimeful race." |
| Upon that word mounts the Emperour again. |
| AOI. |
| CLXXX |
| For Charlemagne a great marvel God planned: |
| Making the sun still in his course to stand. |
| So pagans fled, and chased them well the Franks |
| Through the Valley of Shadows, close in hand; |
| Towards Sarraguce by force they chased them back, |
| And as they went with killing blows attacked: |
| Barred their highways and every path they had. |
| The River Sebre before them reared its bank, |
| 'Twas very deep, marvellous current ran; |
| No barge thereon nor dromond nor caland. |
| A god of theirs invoked they, Tervagant. |
| And then leaped in, but there no warrant had. |
| The armed men more weighty were for that, |
| Many of them down to the bottom sank, |
| Downstream the rest floated as they might hap; |
| So much water the luckiest of them drank, |
| That all were drowned, with marvellous keen pangs. |
| "An evil day," cry Franks, "ye saw Rollant!" |
| CLXXXI |
| When Charles sees that pagans all are dead, |
| Some of them slain, the greater part drowned; |
| (Whereby great spoils his chevaliers collect) |
| That gentle King upon his feet descends, |
| Kneels on the ground, his thanks to God presents. |
| When he once more rise, the sun is set. |
| Says the Emperour "Time is to pitch our tents; |
| To Rencesvals too late to go again. |
| Our horses are worn out and foundered: |
| Unsaddle them, take bridles from their heads, |
| And through these meads let them refreshment get." |
| Answer the Franks: "Sire, you have spoken well." |
| AOI. |
| CLXXXII |
| That Emperour hath chosen his bivouac; |
| The Franks dismount in those deserted tracts, |
| Their saddles take from off their horses' backs, |
| Bridles of gold from off their heads unstrap, |
| Let them go free; there is enough fresh grass— |
| No service can they render them, save that. |
| Who is most tired sleeps on the ground stretched flat. |
| Upon this night no sentinels keep watch. |
| CLXXXIII |
| That Emperour is lying in a mead; |
| By's head, so brave, he's placed his mighty spear; |
| On such a night unarmed he will not be. |
| He's donned his white hauberk, with broidery, |
| Has laced his helm, jewelled with golden beads, |
| Girt on Joiuse, there never was its peer, |
| Whereon each day thirty fresh hues appear. |
| All of us know that lance, and well may speak |
| Whereby Our Lord was wounded on the Tree: |
| Charles, by God's grace, possessed its point of steel! |
| His golden hilt he enshrined it underneath. |
| By that honour and by that sanctity |
| The name Joiuse was for that sword decreed. |
| Barons of France may not forgetful be |
| Whence comes the ensign "Monjoie," they cry at need; |
| Wherefore no race against them can succeed. |
| CLXXXIV |
| Clear was the night, the moon shone radiant. |
| Charles laid him down, but sorrow for Rollant |
| And Oliver, most heavy on him he had, |
| For's dozen peers, for all the Frankish band |
| He had left dead in bloody Rencesvals; |
| He could not help, but wept and waxed mad, |
| And prayed to God to be their souls' Warrant. |
| Weary that King, or grief he's very sad; |
| He falls on sleep, he can no more withstand. |
| Through all those meads they slumber then, the Franks; |
| Is not a horse can any longer stand, |
| Who would eat grass, he takes it lying flat. |
| He has learned much, can understand their pangs. |
| CLXXXV |
| Charles, like a man worn out with labour, slept. |
| Saint Gabriel the Lord to him hath sent, |
| Whom as a guard o'er the Emperour he set; |
| Stood all night long that angel by his head. |
| In a vision announced he to him then |
| A battle, should be fought against him yet, |
| Significance of griefs demonstrated. |
| Charles looked up towards the sky, and there |
| Thunders and winds and blowing gales beheld, |
| And hurricanes and marvellous tempests; |
| Lightnings and flames he saw in readiness, |
| That speedily on all his people fell; |
| Apple and ash, their spear-shafts all burned, |
| Also their shields, e'en the golden bosses, |
| Crumbled the shafts of their trenchant lances, |
| Crushed their hauberks and all their steel helmets. |
| His chevaliers he saw in great distress. |
| Bears and leopards would feed upon them next; |
| Adversaries, dragons, wyverns, serpents, |
| Griffins were there, thirty thousand, no less, |
| Nor was there one but on some Frank it set. |
| And the Franks cried: "Ah! Charlemagne, give help!" |
| Wherefore the King much grief and pity felt, |
| He'ld go to them but was in duress kept: |
| Out of a wood came a great lion then, |
| 'Twas very proud and fierce and terrible; |
| His body dear sought out, and on him leapt, |
| Each in his arms, wrestling, the other held; |
| But he knew not which conquered, nor which fell. |
| That Emperour woke not at all, but slept. |
| CLXXXVI |
| And, after that, another vision came: |
| Himseemed in France, at Aix, on a terrace, |
| And that he held a bruin by two chains; |
| Out of Ardenne saw thirty bears that came, |
| And each of them words, as a man might, spake |
| Said to him: "Sire, give him to us again! |
| It is not right that he with you remain, |
| He's of our kin, and we must lend him aid." |
| A harrier fair ran out of his palace, |
| Among them all the greatest bear assailed |
| On the green grass, beyond his friends some way. |
| There saw the King marvellous give and take; |
| But he knew not which fell, nor which o'ercame. |
| The angel of God so much to him made plain. |
| Charles slept on till the clear dawn of day. |
| CLXXXVII |
| King Marsilies, fleeing to Sarraguce, |
| Dismounted there beneath an olive cool; |
| His sword and sark and helm aside he put, |
| On the green grass lay down in shame and gloom; |
| For his right hand he'd lost, 'twas clean cut through; |
| Such blood he'd shed, in anguish keen he swooned. |
| Before his face his lady Bramimunde |
| Bewailed and cried, with very bitter rue; |
| Twenty thousand and more around him stood, |
| All of them cursed Carlun and France the Douce. |
| Then Apollin in's grotto they surround, |
| And threaten him, and ugly words pronounce: |
| "Such shame on us, vile god!, why bringest thou? |
| This is our king; wherefore dost him confound? |
| Who served thee oft, ill recompense hath found." |
| Then they take off his sceptre and his crown, |
| With their hands hang him from a column down, |
| Among their feet trample him on the ground, |
| With great cudgels they batter him and trounce. |
| From Tervagant his carbuncle they impound, |
| And Mahumet into a ditch fling out, |
| Where swine and dogs defile him and devour. |
| CLXXXVIII |
| Out of his swoon awakens Marsilies, |
| And has him borne his vaulted roof beneath; |
| Many colours were painted there to see, |
| And Bramimunde laments for him, the queen, |
| Tearing her hair; caitiff herself she clepes; |
| Also these words cries very loud and clear: |
| "Ah! Sarraguce, henceforth forlorn thou'lt be |
| Of the fair king that had thee in his keep! |
| All those our gods have wrought great felony, |
| Who in battle this morning failed at need. |
| That admiral will shew his cowardice, |
| Unless he fight against that race hardy, |
| Who are so fierce, for life they take no heed. |
| That Emperour, with his blossoming beard, |
| Hath vassalage, and very high folly; |
| Battle to fight, he will not ever flee. |
| Great grief it is, no man may slay him clean." |
