GLOSSARY.

The day wears on and vesper draweth nigh.Christians and Pagans, sword in hand, engage;And valiant are their chiefs, nor mindless theyOf battle cries:—"Precieuse!" the Emir shouts,And Carle:—"Montjoie!" the glorious sign. Each knowsThe other by the clear sonorous voice,And 'mid the field encountering, gives and takesFierce blows. Each massy shield receives the shock,And each beneath the boss is cloven in twainBy the strong lance; each hauberk's sides are rent,But the keen steel in neither reached the flesh;The horse-girths burst and let the saddles fall.Dropped to the earth both kings, both to their feetQuick springing, dauntlessly unsheathed their swords.And now the mortal combat will not ceaseTill Carle or Baligant has fallen in death.Aoi.

Carle of sweet France is brave, but the Emir feelsBefore him neither fear nor dread. Both wieldTheir naked swords and mighty thrusts exchange.The shields, of wood and leather multifold,Are rent, the nails torn out, the bosses split;Each at the other's hauberk aims his blows.Both combat breast to breast; the showering sparksWrap both their helms in fire: no end can beTill one or other, vanquished, owns his wrong.Aoi.

The Emir said: "King Carle, bethink thee yet;Take better counsel with thy heart, and showRemorse. Full well I know, by thee my sonWas slain, thou broughtest ruin through my land.Become my man, I will restore [in fief]This land [to thee], and to the East, but serveMe well." And Carle: "Great shame were that to me!To Heathens I can give no peace nor love....Receive the law our God revealed; acceptThe faith of Christ.... For e'er my love is thine,If thou believe in God, the Almighty King."Said Baligant: "Ill words are these of thine:[Far better die by the keen edge of sword."]Aoi.

The mighty Emir with a giant's strengthSmites Carle upon the helm of burnished steel,Which splits in twain beneath the ponderous blow,Cuts through the silky hair, shears from the scalpFully the breadth of a man's palm and more,Baring the skull. Carle staggers, nearly falls,But God willed not that he should die or yield.Saint Gabriel, with eager flight once moreDescends, demanding:—"What ails thee, great King?"Aoi.

When Carle the Angel's heavenly accent hears,All thought or dread of death forsakes his soul,And in him springs again his former strength.The Emir by the royal sword of FranceIs struck, his helm all bright with gems is rent,His cloven skull pours out the brain, his faceIs cleft to the very roots of his white beard:Dead falls the Pagan past recovery.Then shouts the King his rallying cry, "Montjoie!"Hearing his shout, Duke Naimes hastes up, and bringsThe charger Tecendur for Carle the greatTo mount. The Pagans turn their backs—God willsThey should not stay. The Franks have their desires.Aoi.

The Pagans fly—such is the will of God;Carle leads the French in the pursuit. Thus spakeThe King:—"Seigneurs, the time is come to giveVent to just hatred, and your anguished heartsAssuage. This very morn I saw your eyesStreaming with tears." They cry:—"Our vengeance now!"And vying with each other in exploits,They deal their mighty blows. But few escape.Aoi.

Amidst the sultry heat and clouds of dustThe Pagans rousèd, by their foes harassed,Flee far for Sarraguce. To her high towerAscends Queen Bramimunde, where, seeing thusThe routed Arabs fly, she calls her priestsAnd canons, subjects to false law, by GodNe'er loved: their crowns no holy tonsure wear.She cries aloud:—"Aid us, Mahum! Oh aid!O gentle King! Already vanquished areOur men, the Emir slain in shameful death!"On hearing this, Marsile turned to the wallHis covered face, and amid bitter tearsHis life departed. Soon the eager fiendsBore off to judgment his sin-burthened soul.Aoi.

The Pagans all are slain [or put to flight];Carle wins the day. The gates of SarraguceAre stormed, and well he knows, defense is vain.He takes the city. All the Christian hostPour in, and there repose their limbs this night.The King with snow-white beard is filled with pride:Queen Bramimunde gives up the citadels;Ten of these forts are large, and fifty small.Well helped are they whom God Almighty aids.Aoi.

The sunny day had passed, the shades of nightHad fallen; bright the moonlight; all the starsIn heaven shone. Carle ruled in Sarraguce.Unto one thousand men he gave commandTo search throughout the city's synagoguesAnd mosques for all their idols and graved signsOf gods—these to be broken up and crushedBy ax and iron mallet he ordains.Nor sorcery nor falsehood left. King CarleBelieves in God and serves him faithfully.Then bishops bless the fountains, leading upThe Heathens to the blest baptismal Font.If one perchance resist the King, condemnedIs he to die, or hanged, or burnt, or slain.More than one hundred thousand are baptizedTrue Christians; but not so Queen Bramimunde:A captive shall she go unto sweet FranceAnd be converted by the King through love.Aoi.

Night passes; dawn appears. Carle fortifiesThe towers of Sarraguce. One thousand KnightsOf valor proved are left to guard the townIn the Emperor's name. With escort strong he rides,Followed by Bramimunde a captive, yetCommands that naught but kindness she receive.In proud and joyous triumph they return;Through Nerbune passes the victorious host,Unto Burdele, the city great and fair.There on the altar of the Baron SaintSevrin, Carle lays the olifant filled fullOf marks and gold, where pilgrims view it still.Passing upon broad skiffs across Girunde,To Blaive, he bears the bodies of RollándAnd Olivier, his nobleCompagnon,With the Archbishop good and brave. BeneathWhite monuments he hath the lords entombedAt Saint-Romain. Here those three Barons lie....The French to God and to his saints, once moreCommend them. Carle anew through mounts and valesProceeds, nor will he stop until in Aix.Fast rides he till he nears the marble stepsOf his great palace; and as soon as reachedIts tower, by messengers he summons upBaiviers and Saisnes, Loherencs and Frisons,Allemans, Burguignons, Normans, Poitevins,Bretons, of France the wisest men; for nowGanelon's trial shall have no delay.Aoi.

From Spain at last the Emperor has returnedTo Aix, the noblest seat of France; ascendsHis palace, enters in the stately hall.—Now comes to greet him the fair [lady] Aude,And asks the King:—"Where is Rollánd the chiefWho pledged his faith to take me for his wife?"Sore-pained, heart-broken, Carle, with weeping eyes,Tears his white beard.—"Ah! sister well beloved,Thou askest me of one who is no more.A worthier match I give thee in exchange;Loewis it is. I can not better say.He is my son, and will protect my realms."Aude answers:—"To my ear these words are strange.May God, His saints, His angels, all forfendThat, if Rollánd lives not, I still should live."Her color fades, she falls prone at the feetOf Carlemagne—dead ... God's mercy on her soul!Barons of France mourn her with pitying tears.Aoi.

Such was the end of Aude the beautiful.The King, in hope 'tis but a swoon, with tearsAnd pity taking both her hands, upliftsHer form; the head upon the shoulders sinks.As soon as Carle knows it is death indeed,Four countesses he summons, bids them bearIn haste the Lady to a nunnery.——All night they watched the body, and at mornBeside a shrine gently she was entombedWith highest honors by the King's command.Aoi.

The Emperor is once more at Aix. There standsAmid the city 'fore the palace gate,In iron chains, the traitor Ganelon.His hands are fastened to a stake with thongsOf deer-skin by the sergeants who then beatHis body well with staves and heavy cords.Such treatment was his true desert. He waitsHis coming doom, in agony of soul.Aoi.

Written it is in ancient Geste of FranceThat Carle then summoned men from all his lands,Who met at Aix's Chapelle. A solemn feastIt was; some say the Baron Saint Silvestre's.This day began the plea and historyOf Ganelon who wove the treason's plot.The Emperor bade them drag him to his bar.Aoi.

"Seigneurs Barons," said to them Carle the King,"Judge Ganelon according to the law.—Among my host with me to Spain he came;His craft lost twenty thousand of my Franks;My nephew, whom ye nevermore shall see,And Olivier, the brave and courteous Knight.The traitor sold my brave twelve Peers for gain."Then Ganelon:—"May I be cursed ere IDeny. Of wealth and honors had [Rollánd]Deprived me, and for this, his loss and deathI wrought, but treason none I will confess."Respond the French:—"On this we counsel take."Aoi.

In presence of the King stands GanelonWith bearing hardy, florid countenance;Were he but loyal, as a Baron trueHis mien. Upon the French and judges heHas cast a glance, and on his thirty kinWho 'round him stand; then with firm voice exclaims:"Barons! Now hear me all, for love of God!I to the Emperor's host belonged, and servedHim ever in all faith and love. Rollánd,His nephew, hatred bore to me, and fainHad doomed my days to torture and to death.As message-bearer I to King MarsileWas sent, wisdom alone my shield and guard;I gave defiance to Rollánd the bold,To Olivier and to their comrades all:By Carle and all his Barons this was heard.Revenge this was, but treason it was none."Reply the French:—"All this we well shall weigh."Aoi.

On seeing the great plea was to commence,Thirty good Knights were called by GanelonOut of his kin, and one among them makesA speech all others hark: 'tis PinabelOf Castel de Sorence, of greatest skillIn words, and apt with reason plausible;Withal, a vassal brave to guard his arms.Thus to him Ganelon:—"In you my trustI place; my life from death, my name from shamePreserve!"—Said Pinabel:—"Thou shalt be saved.Dare one French Knight condemn thee to be hanged,And would the Emperor make us both to meetIn combat, my good sword will his rash wordBelieve."—And at his feet falls Ganelon.Aoi.

Baiviers, Saines, Poitevins, Normans and FrenchIn council met;—Allemans, Tiedeis in greatArray. Those from Alverne most courteous proveAnd show more kindness unto Pinabel.One to the others said:—"To leave this pleaRight would it be, and pray Carl'magne, this onceTo pardon Ganelon who, from this day,Will serve his lord with truer faith and love.Rollánd lies in his grave; nor wealth, nor goldRestores him to your eyes. This cruel fightIs folly."—All the Knights approve, save one,Tierri, a brother of the Lord Geffrei.Aoi.

To Carle his Barons come again, and say:"We pray you, sire, acquit Count Ganelon;Then will he serve you with true faith and love.Grant him his life which springs from noble race.Rollánd lies in his grave; ne'er shall we seeHim more, nor treasures e'er can bring him back."Exclaimed the King: "Vile traitors are ye all!"Aoi.

Now, seeing all will fail him, o'er Carle's eyesAnd features gloom descends; by grief o'erwhelmedHe cries: "Unhappy that I am!" Then stood[Tierri], the brother of Geffrei, the DukeD'Anjou, before the King. Thin, light of frame,Hair raven-black, [face] somewhat brown of hue,In height nor tall nor short; with courtesyHe spake thus to the Emp'ror: "Fair sire King,Be not cast down. That I have served you wellEre this, you know. 'Tis my ancestral rightTo sit among the judges of the plea.However guilty was Rollánd againstCount Ganelon, his duty to the KingShould have restrained his hate. A treason foulGanelon wrought against Rollánd; forswornIn perjury tow'rd you, he lost himself.For all his crimes his death I here demand,Death by the cord; his body to the dogsBe thrown away—the perjurer's just doom.Should any of his kin deny the wordsI speak, this sword of mine girt to my sideWill make them good."—All cry: "Well have you said."Aoi.

Then toward the King advances Pinabel;Tall, strong and swift, and brave. Strike he but once,No second blow need follow; to the KingHe said: "Sire, unto you belongs this plea.Command these clamors to be hushed. There standsTierri who now his judgment has pronounced.The lie I give him and to fight defy!"With this his right hand glove of deer-skin gaveUnto the King who said: "I must receiveGood pledges." Of his kin then thirty knightsWere given as legal sureties of his pledge."I also give my pledge," the Emperor said,"And have them guarded safe till judgment pass."Aoi.

When Tierri sees that now the fight is near,He gives the Emperor his right hand glove.To him the sureties Carle himself provides,Bids that they bring four benches to the placeWhereon the combatants shall sit. The termsAre judged by all the others as most fair.Ogier de Dannemarche was chosen to ruleThe lists. Then for their steeds and arms both called.Aoi.

Both knights now made them ready for the fight,Were shriven, assoiled, and blessed; a mass have heard,Communion have received, and richest almsBequeathed to monasteries.—Before strikingThey both appear.—Gold spurs their heels adorn;They wear white hauberks light and strong; bright helmsClasp on their heads, and gold hilt swords are girtUpon their thighs, and to their necks are boundStrong quartered shields; they wield in each right handA trenchant sword, and on fleet steeds they mount;Then melt in tears one hundred thousand knightsWho for Rollánd's sake wish Tierri well.Yea—but God knows what way the thing will end.Aoi.

Beyond the town of Aix a plain extends:And here our Barons will the combat try.Most valiant knights are both; the steeds they rideAre swift and stout; with spurs in flanks, and freedOf rein, they dash.—The warriors all their mightAnd skill unite to strike the surest blow.Bucklers beneath the shock are torn and crushed,White hauberks rent in shreds, asunder burstsEach courser's girth, the saddles, turning, fall.One hundred thousand men look weeping on....Aoi.

Both knights leap on the earth, and, quick as light,Stand face to face.—Strong, fiery PinabelAnd Tierri for each other seek. Their steedsAre fled.—But their gold-hilted swords they wield;And on the helms of steel they shower such blowsAs rashed the thongs. Loudly the knights lament,And Carle exclaims:—"Show thou the right, O God!"Aoi.

Cried Pinabel:—"Tierri, surrender thou!Thy vassal I will be in faith and love,And to thy pleasure will I yield my wealth;But let the King forgive Count Ganelon!"Tierri replied:—"Thy offers all are vain;Vile treason were it such a pact to make;But God shall judge us and make plain the right."Aoi.

Then Tierri spake:—"I hold thee, Pinabel,As Baron true, great, strong, of handsome mold;Thy peers acknowledge thee as valiant knight;Well, let this combat cease, between the KingAnd thee a covenant I will strive to make.On Ganelon such justice shall be doneThat future ages shall record the doom."They grasp again their swords and hewEach other's gold-encrusted helm with rageSo rash that sparkling fires spurt through the air.No power will now disjoint the combatants:The death of one can only close the strife.Aoi.

No braver man than Pinabel.—Such blowsHe deals on Tierri's helmet of Provence,That the sparks fly in showers, and, falling, setThe grass ablaze. Then aiming at his foeHis keen-edged brand, down to the brow cuts throughHis helm; the blade glides down across his face,And plows his right cheek with a deep red gash;Unto his stomach is the haubert rent,But God protects him, and averts his death.Aoi.

Tierri, on seeing blood gush from his browAnd tinge the grassy field, strikes PinabelOn his steel-burnished helmet, and cuts throughTo the nose-plate. His head is cleft in twainAnd gushes forth the brain. This fatal blowGives Pinabel his death, and ends the fight.The French exclaim:—"O wondrous work of God!Full right it is that Ganelon be hangedWith all his kin who sureties were for him!"Aoi.

Tierri had won, and on the battle-fieldThe Emperor Carle arrived with an escortOf forty Barons,—Naimes the Duke, OgierDe Dannemarche, Geffrei d'Anjou, WillalmesDe Blaive.—In close embrace the King has pressedTierri, and with his mantle's sables wipedThe warrior's face; then lays his furs asideAnd on his shoulders others are arrayed.Meanwhile the knight, by friendly hands disarmed,On an Arabian mule is placed, and soThis valorous Baron full of joy returnsTo Aix.—Amid the place they all dismount,And now the sureties must abide their doom.Aoi.

Carlemagne around him calls his counts and dukes:"What counsel give ye touching those I kept,Unto this plea who came for GanelonThemselves sworn hostages for Pinabel?"Respond the French:—"Let none of them survive!"—Carle then commands a road-keeper, Basbrun:"Hang them all up on yon accursed tree!By this gray beard of mine, I swear, if oneEscape, thou diest but a villain's death!"—Answered the man:—"What else but to obey?"—Then by a hundred sergeants roughly seized,Those thirty men are hanged.—Who man betraysDestroys himself and others drags to death.Aoi.

And now have turned away Baiviers, Allemans,Poitevins, Bretons and Normans; but moreThan all, the French advise that GanelonShould die a death of torture. Then they tieWith cords his hands and feet. Four sergeants bringFour wild and fiery destriers, made madBy a mare 'mid the field. A fearful endFor Ganelon; bound between them, limb from limbIs rent away, each nerve and muscle stretchedAnd torn. The clear blood streams upon the green.Thus perished Ganelon by a felon's death....Traitors of evil deeds must never boast.Aoi.

When the Emperor Carle had wreaked his full revenge,He called the bishops from the realms of France,And from Baviere, and those of Alemaigne:"Now in my [court] have I a captive, sprungFrom noble race. Such sermons has she heard,So good examples seen, she will believeIn the true God, and Christian faith embrace.Baptize her so that He may save her soul;God-mothers choose her of our noblest dames."With a great company the Baths at AixWere thronged, and soon before the holy FontsThe Queen received the name of Juliane:Henceforth a Christian holding fast the Truth.Aoi.

But when the Emperor had made completeHis justice and his heavy wrath assuaged,And brought Queen Bramimunde to Christian faith,The day was over and the night had fall'n.The King sought rest within his vaulted room.Saint Gabriel brought him word from God and said:"Carle, of thy empire summon all the hostsFor swiftest marching to the land of Bire;So shalt thou succor King Vivien in Imphe,The city compassed by the Pagan foe.The Christians look to thee and cry for help."—Will has he none to go, the King, but moans:—"O, God," quoth he, "so troublous is my life!"—Whereat he weeps, and tears his hoary beard.Aoi.

Thus endeth here the Geste Turoldus sang.

1Molted. Because in that condition, better for hunting.

2Pallies. A square piece of silk on which the knights used to sit. (From Pallium).

3Tables. In the romances of the Middle Ages the game of tables means tric-trac, chess, checkers, etc.

4Bezants. A Byzantine coin.

5A sort of undergarment made of gold and silk brocade worn in time of war under the coat of mail, and in time of peace under the mantle of fur. In the latter case it was of silk.

Of places and words which may present some difficulty as regards origin and meaning on account of their ancient orthography. For more complete information see Léon Gautier's seventh edition of the text.

The numbers indicate stanzas in this edition.

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