La Chanson de Roland, CLXXXIX–CXCVII

By rapid flight Marsile reached Sarraguce.— Dismounting 'neath a shady olive-tree, He strips himself of breast-plate, helmet, sword, And sinks upon the sward with ghastly look. His right hand severed from the wrist whence blood Is gushing forth, has made him swoon with pain. Before Marsile, his spouse, Queen Bramimunde, Bursts into tears, and cries, and woeful moans. Around stand more than twenty thousand men Who with one voice accuse Sweet France and Carle; Apollo's grotto seek they, and with taunts, Profane, insulting words, their God revile: "What ails thee, evil God, to shame us thus, And to confusion bring our Lord the King? Who serves thee well vile guerdon gains from thee!" Despoiled of crown and scepter, by the hands They hang him on a column—neath their feet They roll him down.—They with great clubs deface And beat him; then from Tervagant they snatch His carbuncle; Mohamed in a ditch Throw down—there bitt'n, trampled on, by swine and dogs. Aoi.

Recov'ring from his swoon, the King Marsile Commands they lead him to his vaulted room All bright with color and inscribed with verse. There weeping bitterly, Queen Bramimunde Tearing her hair, aloud proclaims her grief: "O hapless Sarraguce, thou art bereft Of the most gentle King that was thy Lord! Our gods betrayed our trust, they who this morn In battle failed us;—the Emir coward were Would he not fight these people bold who are So proud they care not for their lives. Carl'magne, The Emperor, whose beard is strewn with gray, Among his men has dauntless Knights; if e'er He fight, no step he yields. Great woe it is That there is no man who can give him death." Aoi.

By his great power the Emperor in Spain Full seven years remained; he castles took And many cities, bringing sore distress To King Marsile. The year had scarce begun Before his word went forth to seal the briefs Which summoned Baligant from Babylone, (The aged Emir, he whose life outlived Homer and Virgil). Now the King Marsile Had begged the Baron's help for Sarraguce. Should he not come, gods, idols, once adored He will renounce, the holy Faith of Christ Embrace, and join in friendship with King Carle. Afar was Baligant, and tarried long; From forty realms his people had he called And ordered to prepare his dromonds vast, Barks, galleys, ev'ry vessel. In the port Of Alexandria the fleet had met; In May it was, the first of summer-days, A mighty host he launched upon the deep. Aoi.

Great are the forces of their hostile horde; They swiftly skim the waves, and steer, and sail; Their masts and yards so blazing with the light Of carbuncles and lanterns, night gives up Its darkness and still fairer shows the sea. As they approached the shores of Spain, the land Was all aglow, and tidings reached Marsile. Aoi.

The Pagans halt no moment; soon they leave The deep, and in fresh water steer; Marbreise And then Marbruse is passed; along the shores Of winding Ebro glides the armament, Setting the night aflame with carbuncles And lights: the same day reached they Sarraguce. Aoi.

Clear is the day and bright the sun; descends The Emir from his ship. Espaneliz Walks forth upon his right; a train of Kings In number seventeen, with Dukes and Counts Innumerable, follow. 'Mid the plain Grows a great laurel, and beneath its shade They spread a pallie of white silk upon The verdant grass, and place a faldstool there Of ivory. In this sits Baligant The Pagan. All the others stand. First spake The chief:—"Oyez, all ye, most valiant Knights! King Carle, the Emperor, who leads the Franks, Shall eat not, save by my command. Throughout All Spain, 'gainst me a cruel war he waged: Now I will seek him in sweet France, nor, while My life lasts, cease until he dies the death, Or, living, yields, and mercy begs." He spake And struck his right-hand glove upon his knee. Aoi.

His word once spoken was to him a law: Though it cost all the gold beneath the sky, Yet would he march to Aix, where Carle was wont To hold his court. Some praise him, even give Him counsel. Two from out his host of Knights He summons, Clarien, and Clarifan: "Ye are the sons of King Maltraien, A willing message bearer: 'tis my will Ye go to Sarraguce; there in my name Give ye this message to the King Marsile: I have come to succor him against the French, And if I find them, great the fight will be. Give him this gold-embroidered glove, and place it On his right hand; give him this staff of gold; And when he comes to pay me homage, as A vassal to his lord, I then will lead My force to France to fight with Carlemagne. If he fall not before my feet to pray For mercy, and abjure the Christian law, I from his head will tear away the crown." The Pagans answer all:—"Well spoken, Sire." Aoi.

"Barons! to horse!" said Baligant. "Bear thou The glove, and thou the staff." The two reply: "Dear Sire, thus shall we do." So fast they rode They soon reached Sarraguce. Beneath ten gates They pass, four bridges cross, ride through the streets Where stand the burghers. But on drawing near The lofty citadel, they heard great noise About the palace, where were thronging crowds Of Pagans with loud wails and shrieks of woe, Crying out against their gods, on Tervagan, Mahum, Apollo, who avail them naught. Each says to each, "Ah, caitiffs, what shall now Befall us, miserable? for we have lost The King Marsile whose hand Rolland struck off; For aye we are bereft of Turfaleu The Fair, his son. This day the land of Spain Into the Christian hands will fall enslaved!" The message-bearers reach the royal gates. Aoi.

Beneath an olive tree they halt, and soon Two Pagans take their curbed steeds in charge. The messengers, each holding by the cloak The other, hasten to the highest tower. Entering the vaulted hall where lay Marsile, An evil greeting offer with good will: "May Tervagan, Apollo, he who holds Us in his service, and our Sire Mahum, Preserve our king and guard the queen!" Whereat cried Bramimunde:—"What folly this! Our gods are false; too well in Ronceval They showed their evil power, and let our knights Be slain—amid the battle-field forsook My lord the king with his right hand struck off By mighty Count Rolland. The realm of Spain Will fall enslaved beneath the sway of Carle. What shall become of me, most miserable? Alas! is there no man to give me death!" Aoi.