Section 8: Laisses 189-213
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| | That Emperour, by his great Majesty, | |
| I Full seven years in Spain now has he been, | |
| | 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. | |
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| | 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. | |
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| | 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. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | 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. | |
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| | 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." | |
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| | 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. | |
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| | 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!" | |
| AOI. | |
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| | 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. | |
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| | 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." | |
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| | 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. | |
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| | 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. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | "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." | |
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| | 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. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | 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!" | |
| AOI. | |
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| | 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. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | 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. | |
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| | 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. | |
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| | 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. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | 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. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | "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. | |
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| | "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. | |
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| | "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." | |
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| | "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." | |
| AOI. | |
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| | 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? | |
| AOI. | |
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| | 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. | |
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