READ STUDY GUIDE: Laisses 189-213 |
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Section 8:
Laisses 189-213
Laisses 189-213
| CLXXXIX |
| That Emperour, by his great Majesty, |
| And castles there, and many cities seized. |
| King Marsilies was therefore sore displeased; |
| In the first year he sealed and sent his brief |
| To Baligant, into Babilonie: |
| ('Twas the admiral, old in antiquity, |
| That clean outlived Omer and Virgilie,) |
| To Sarraguce, with succour bade him speed, |
| For, if he failed, Marsile his gods would leave, |
| All his idols he worshipped formerly; |
| He would receive blest Christianity |
| And reconciled to Charlemagne would be. |
| Long time that one came not, far off was he. |
| Through forty realms he did his tribes rally; |
| His great dromonds, he made them all ready, |
| Barges and skiffs and ships and galleries; |
| Neath Alexandre, a haven next the sea, |
| In readiness he gat his whole navy. |
| That was in May, first summer of the year, |
| All of his hosts he launched upon the sea. |
| CXC |
| Great are the hosts of that opposed race; |
| With speed they sail, they steer and navigate. |
| High on their yards, at their mast-heads they place |
| Lanterns enough, and carbuncles so great |
| Thence, from above, such light they dissipate |
| The sea's more clear at midnight than by day. |
| And when they come into the land of Spain |
| All that country lightens and shines again: |
| Of their coming Marsile has heard the tale. |
| CXCI |
| The pagan race would never rest, but come |
| Out of the sea, where the sweet waters run; |
| They leave Marbris, they leave behind Marbrus, |
| Upstream by Sebre doth all their navy turn. |
| Lanterns they have, and carbuncles enough, |
| That all night long and very clearly burn. |
| Upon that day they come to Sarragus. |
| CXCII |
| Clear is that day, and the sun radiant. |
| Out of his barge issues their admiral, |
| Espaneliz goes forth at his right hand, |
| Seventeen kings follow him in a band, |
| Counts too, and dukes; I cannot tell of that. |
| Where in a field, midway, a laurel stands, |
| On the green grass they spread a white silk mat, |
| Set a fald-stool there, made of olifant; |
| Sits him thereon the pagan Baligant, |
| And all the rest in rows about him stand. |
| The lord of them speaks before any man: |
| "Listen to me, free knights and valiant! |
| Charles the King, the Emperour of the Franks, |
| Shall not eat bread, save when that I command. |
| Throughout all Spain great war with me he's had; |
| I will go seek him now, into Douce France, |
| I will not cease, while I'm a living man, |
| Till be slain, or fall between my hands." |
| Upon his knee his right-hand glove he slaps. |
| CXCIII |
| He is fast bound by all that he has said. |
| He will not fail, for all the gold neath heav'n, |
| But go to Aix, where Charles court is held: |
| His men applaud, for so they counselled. |
| After he called two of his chevaliers, |
| One Clarifan, and the other Clarien: |
| "You are the sons of king Maltraien, |
| Freely was, wont my messages to bear. |
| You I command to Sarraguce to fare. |
| Marsiliun on my part you shall tell |
| Against the Franks I'm come to give him help, |
| Find I their host, great battle shall be there; |
| Give him this glove, that's stitched with golden thread, |
| On his right hand let it be worn and held; |
| This little wand of fine gold take as well, |
| Bid him come here, his homage to declare. |
| To France I'll go, and war with Charles again; |
| Save at my feet he kneel, and mercy beg, |
| Save all the laws of Christians he forget, |
| I'll take away the crown from off his head." |
| Answer pagans: "Sire, you say very well." |
| CXCIV |
| Said Baligant: "But canter now, barons, |
| Take one the wand, and the other one the glove!" |
| These answer him: "Dear lord, it shall be done." |
| Canter so far, to Sarraguce they come, |
| Pass through ten gates, across four bridges run, |
| Through all the streets, wherein the burghers crowd. |
| When they draw nigh the citadel above, |
| From the palace they hear a mighty sound; |
| About that place are seen pagans enough, |
| Who weep and cry, with grief are waxen wood, |
| And curse their gods, Tervagan and Mahum |
| And Apolin, from whom no help is come. |
| Says each to each: "Caitiffs! What shall be done? |
| For upon us confusion vile is come, |
| Now have we lost our king Marsiliun, |
| For yesterday his hand count Rollanz cut; |
| We'll have no more Fair Jursaleu, his son; |
| The whole of Spain henceforward is undone." |
| Both messengers on the terrace dismount. |
| CXCV |
| Horses they leave under an olive tree, |
| Which by the reins two Sarrazins do lead; |
| Those messengers have wrapped them in their weeds, |
| To the palace they climb the topmost steep. |
| When they're come in, the vaulted roof beneath, |
| Marsilium with courtesy they greet: |
| "May Mahumet, who all of us doth keep, |
| And Tervagan, and our lord Apoline |
| Preserve the, king and guard from harm the queen!" |
| Says Bramimunde "Great foolishness I hear: |
| Those gods of ours in cowardice are steeped; |
| In Rencesvals they wrought an evil deed, |
| Our chevaliers they let be slain in heaps; |
| My lord they failed in battle, in his need, |
| Never again will he his right hand see; |
| For that rich count, Rollanz, hath made him bleed. |
| All our whole Spain shall be for Charles to keep. |
| Miserable! What shall become of me? |
| Alas! That I've no man to slay me clean!" |
| CXCVI |
| Says Clarien: "My lady, say not that! |
| We're messengers from pagan Baligant; |
| To Marsilies, he says, he'll be warrant, |
| So sends him here his glove, also this wand. |
| Vessels we have, are moored by Sebres bank, |
| Barges and skiffs and gallies four thousand, |
| Dromonds are there—I cannot speak of that. |
| Our admiral is wealthy and puissant. |
| And Charlemagne he will go seek through France |
| And quittance give him, dead or recreant." |
| Says Bramimunde: "Unlucky journey, that! |
| Far nearer here you'll light upon the Franks; |
| For seven years he's stayed now in this land. |
| That Emperour is bold and combatant, |
| Rather he'ld die than from the field draw back; |
| No king neath heav'n above a child he ranks. |
| Charles hath no fear for any living man. |
| CXCVII |
| Says Marsilies the king: "Now let that be." |
| To th'messengers: "Sirs, pray you, speak to me. |
| I am held fast by death, as ye may see. |
| No son have I nor daughter to succeed; |
| That one I had, they slew him yester-eve. |
| Bid you my lord, he come to see me here. |
| Rights over Spain that admiral hath he, |
| My claim to him, if he will take't, I yield; |
| But from the Franks he then must set her free. |
| Gainst Charlemagne I'll shew him strategy. |
| Within a month from now he'll conquered be. |
| Of Sarraguce ye'll carry him the keys, |
| He'll go not hence, say, if he trusts in me." |
| They answer him: "Sir, 'tis the truth you speak." |
| CXCVIII |
| Then says Marsile: "The Emperour, Charles the Great |
| Hath slain my men and all my land laid waste, |
| My cities are broken and violate; |
| He lay this night upon the river Sebre; |
| I've counted well, 'tis seven leagues away. |
| Bid the admiral, leading his host this way, |
| Do battle here; this word to him convey." |
| Gives them the keys of Sarraguce her gates; |
| Both messengers their leave of him do take, |
| Upon that word bow down, and turn away. |
| CXCIX |
| Both messengers did on their horses mount; |
| From that city nimbly they issued out. |
| Then, sore afraid, their admiral they sought, |
| To whom the keys of Sarraguce they brought. |
| Says Baligant: "Speak now; what have ye found? |
| Where's Marsilies, to come to me was bound?" |
| Says Clarien : "To death he's stricken down. |
| That Emperour was in the pass but now; |
| To France the Douce he would be homeward-bound, |
| Rereward he set, to save his great honour: |
| His nephew there installed, Rollanz the count, |
| And Oliver; the dozen peers around; |
| A thousand score of Franks in armour found. |
| Marsile the king fought with them there, so proud; |
| He and Rollanz upon that field did joust. |
| With Durendal he dealt him such a clout |
| From his body he cut the right hand down. |
| His son is dead, in whom his heart was bound, |
| And the barons that service to him vowed; |
| Fleeing he came, he could no more hold out. |
| That Emperour has chased him well enow. |
| The king implores, you'll hasten with succour, |
| Yields to you Spain, his kingdom and his crown." |
| And Baligant begins to think, and frowns; |
| Such grief he has, doth nearly him confound. |
| CC |
| "Sir admiral," said to him Clariens, |
| "In Rencesvals was yesterday battle. |
| Dead is Rollanz and that count Oliver, |
| The dozen peers whom Charle so cherished, |
| And of their Franks are twenty thousand dead. |
| King Marsilie's of his right hand bereft, |
| And the Emperour chased him enow from thence. |
| Throughout this land no chevalier is left, |
| But he be slain, or drowned in Sebres bed. |
| By river side the Franks have pitched their tents, |
| Into this land so near to us they've crept; |
| But, if you will, grief shall go with them hence." |
| And Baligant looked on him proudly then, |
| In his courage grew joyous and content; |
| From the fald-stool upon his feet he leapt, |
| Then cried aloud: "Barons, too long ye've slept; |
| Forth from your ships issue, mount, canter well! |
| If he flee not, that Charlemagne the eld, |
| King Marsilies shall somehow be avenged; |
| For his right hand I'll pay him back an head." |
| CCI |
| Pagan Arabs out of their ships issue, |
| Then mount upon their horses and their mules, |
| And canter forth, (nay, what more might they do?) |
| Their admiral, by whom they all were ruled, |
| Called up to him Gemalfin, whom he knew: |
| "I give command of all my hosts to you." |
| On a brown horse mounted, as he was used, |
| And in his train he took with him four dukes. |
| Cantered so far, he came to Sarraguce. |
| Dismounted on a floor of marble blue, |
| Where four counts were, who by his stirrup stood; |
| Up by the steps, the palace came into; |
| To meet him there came running Bramimunde, |
| Who said to him: "Accursed from the womb, |
| That in such shame my sovran lord I lose! |
| Fell at his feet, that admiral her took. |
| In grief they came up into Marsile's room. |
| CCII |
| King Marsilies, when he sees Baligant, |
| Calls to him then two Spanish Sarazands: |
| "Take me by the arms, and so lift up my back." |
| One of his gloves he takes in his left hand; |
| Then says Marsile: "Sire, king and admiral, |
| Quittance I give you here of all my land, |
| With Sarraguce, and the honour thereto hangs. |
| Myself I've lost; my army, every man." |
| He answers him: "Therefore the more I'm sad. |
| No long discourse together may we have; |
| Full well I know, Charles waits not our attack, |
| I take the glove from you, in spite of that." |
| He turned away in tears, such grief he had. |
| Down by the steps, out of the palace ran, |
| Mounted his horse, to's people gallopped back. |
| Cantered so far, he came before his band; |
| From hour to hour then, as he went, he sang: |
| "Pagans, come on: already flee the Franks!" |
| CCIII |
| In morning time, when the dawn breaks at last, |
| Awakened is that Emperour Charles. |
| Saint Gabriel, who on God's part him guards, |
| Raises his hand, the Sign upon him marks. |
| Rises the King, his arms aside he's cast, |
| The others then, through all the host, disarm. |
| After they mount, by virtue canter fast |
| Through those long ways, and through those roads so large; |
| They go to see the marvellous damage |
| In Rencesvals, there where the battle was. |
| CCIV |
| In Rencesvals is Charles entered, |
| Begins to weep for those he finds there dead; |
| Says to the Franks: "My lords, restrain your steps, |
| Since I myself alone should go ahead, |
| For my nephew, whom I would find again. |
| At Aix I was, upon the feast Noel, |
| Vaunted them there my valiant chevaliers, |
| Of battles great and very hot contests; |
| With reason thus I heard Rollant speak then: |
| He would not die in any foreign realm |
| Ere he'd surpassed his peers and all his men. |
| To the foes' land he would have turned his head, |
| Conqueringly his gallant life he'ld end." |
| Further than one a little wand could send, |
| Before the rest he's on a peak mounted. |
| CCV |
| When the Emperour went seeking his nephew, |
| He found the grass, and every flower that bloomed, |
| Turned scarlat, with our barons' blood imbrued; |
| Pity he felt, he could but weep for rue. |
| Beneath two trees he climbed the hill and looked, |
| And Rollant's strokes on three terraces knew, |
| On the green grass saw lying his nephew; |
| 'Tis nothing strange that Charles anger grew. |
| Dismounted then, and went—his heart was full, |
| In his two hands the count's body he took; |
| With anguish keen he fell on him and swooned. |
| CCVI |
| That Emperour is from his swoon revived. |
| Naimes the Duke, and the count Aceline, |
| Gefrei d'Anjou and his brother Tierry, |
| Take up the King, bear him beneath a pine. |
| There on the ground he sees his nephew lie. |
| Most sweetly then begins he to repine: |
| "Rollant, my friend, may God to thee be kind! |
| Never beheld any man such a knight |
| So to engage and so to end a fight. |
| Now my honour is turned into decline!" |
| Charle swoons again, he cannot stand upright. |
| CCVII |
| Charles the King returned out of his swoon. |
| Him in their hands four of his barons took, |
| He looked to the earth, saw lying his nephew; |
| All colourless his lusty body grew, |
| He turned his eyes, were very shadowful. |
| Charles complained in amity and truth: |
| "Rollant, my friend, God lay thee mid the blooms |
| Of Paradise, among the glorious! |
| Thou cam'st to Spain in evil tide, seigneur! |
| Day shall not dawn, for thee I've no dolour. |
| How perishes my strength and my valour! |
| None shall I have now to sustain my honour; |
| I think I've not one friend neath heaven's roof, |
| Kinsmen I have, but none of them's so proof." |
| He tore his locks, till both his hands were full. |
| Five score thousand Franks had such great dolour |
| There was not one but sorely wept for rue. |
| CCVIII |
| "Rollant, my friend, to France I will away; |
| When at Loum, I'm in my hall again, |
| Strange men will come from many far domains, |
| Who'll ask me, where's that count, the Capitain; |
| I'll say to them that he is dead in Spain. |
| In bitter grief henceforward shall I reign, |
| Day shall not dawn, I weep not nor complain. |
| CCIX |
| "Rollant, my friend, fair youth that bar'st the bell, |
| When I arrive at Aix, in my Chapelle, |
| Men coming there will ask what news I tell; |
| I'll say to them: 'Marvellous news and fell. |
| My nephew's dead, who won for me such realms!' |
| Against me then the Saxon will rebel, |
| Hungar, Bulgar, and many hostile men, |
| Romain, Puillain, all those are in Palerne, |
| And in Affrike, and those in Califerne; |
| Afresh then will my pain and suffrance swell. |
| For who will lead my armies with such strength, |
| When he is slain, that all our days us led? |
| Ah! France the Douce, now art thou deserted! |
| Such grief I have that I would fain be dead." |
| All his white beard he hath begun to rend, |
| Tore with both hands the hair out of his head. |
| Five score thousand Franks swooned on the earth and fell. |
| CCX |
| "Rollant, my friend, God shew thee His mercy! |
| In Paradise repose the soul of thee! |
| Who hath thee slain, exile for France decreed. |
| I'ld live no more, so bitter is my grief |
| For my household, who have been slain for me. |
| God grant me this, the Son of Saint Mary, |
| Ere I am come to th' master-pass of Size, |
| From my body my soul at length go free! |
| Among their souls let mine in glory be, |
| And let my flesh upon their flesh be heaped." |
| Still his white beard he tears, and his eyes weep. |
| Duke Naimes says: "His wrath is great indeed." |
| CCXI |
| "Sire, Emperour," Gefrei d'Anjou implored, |
| "Let not your grief to such excess be wrought; |
| Bid that our men through all this field be sought, |
| Whom those of Spain have in the battle caught; |
| In a charnel command that they be borne." |
| Answered the King: "Sound then upon your horn." |
| CCXII |
| Gefreid d'Anjou upon his trumpet sounds; |
| As Charles bade them, all the Franks dismount. |
| All of their friends, whose bodies they have found |
| To a charnel speedily the bring down. |
| Bishops there are, and abbots there enow, |
| Canons and monks, vicars with shaven crowns; |
| Absolution in God's name they've pronounced; |
| Incense and myrrh with precious gums they've ground, |
| And lustily they've swung the censers round; |
| With honour great they've laid them in the ground. |
| They've left them there; what else might they do now? |
| CCXIII |
| That Emperour sets Rollant on one side |
| And Oliver, and the Archbishop Turpine; |
| Their bodies bids open before his eyes. |
| And all their hearts in silken veils to wind, |
| And set them in coffers of marble white; |
| After, they take the bodies of those knights, |
| Each of the three is wrapped in a deer's hide; |
| They're washen well in allspice and in wine. |
| The King commands Tedbalt and Gebuin, |
| Marquis Otun, Milun the count besides: |
| Along the road in three wagons to drive. |
| They're covered well with carpets Galazine. |




