THE REAR GUARD.

Then Ganelon strode nearer to the KingAnd said:—"All idle is this wrath of yours.This is the message of King Carle of France;Hear his command:—"Receive the Christian law"—One half of Spain he grants to you in fief,And to Rollánd, his nephew, he will giveThe other half. (A haughty partner heWill prove.) To this agreement should you notConsent, 'gainst Sarraguce his host will layThe siege; by force you will be tak'n and bound,And brought to Aix, the royal seat. Hope notTo ride on palfrey, nor on steed, on muleFemale or male;—on a vile beast of burdenYou shall be thrown, and doomed to have your headStruck off.—Behold the Brief our Emp'ror sends!"With his right hand he gives it to the King.Aoi.

White with exceeding wrath, the King MarsileHas brok'n the seal, let fall the wax on earth,And, glancing on the Brief, has read the script:"I learn from Carle who holds France in his sway,That I should bear in mind his ire and grief:Bazan—Basile, his brother, they whose headsI took on Mount Haltoïe, his anger's cause.If I my body's life would save, to himThe Kalif, my good uncle, I must send,Or else can he ne'er be my friend."—Then spakeTo King Marsile his son:—"This Ganelon,"Said he, "speaks madly, and such wrong hath done,That he should live no more. Now give him upTo me, that I to him quick justice deal!"Ganelon, hearing this, unsheathed his sword,And set his back against a branching pine.Aoi.

Into his orchard King Marsile repaired,Attended only by his wisest men;Came thither too the gray-haired BlancandrinWith Turfaleu his son and heir; with themThe Kalif, brother and good friend of KingMarsile.—Said Blancandrin:—"Recall the Frank;To serve us he has pledged his faith."—The KingReplied:—"Go, bring him hither."—Then he tookGanelon's fingers into his right hand,And brought him to the grove before the King;And lo! was woven there the traitor's plot.Aoi.

The King Marsile said:—"Fair Sire Ganelon,Unwise and all too hasty was I, whenIn my great wrath I poised my lance to strike.This gift of sables take as your amends:More than five hundred marks their weight in gold.Before to-morrow-eve the boon is yours."Ganelon answers:—"I reject it not.May God, if 'tis his will, your grace reward."Aoi.

Marsile spake thus:—"Sire Ganelon, believe,Much I desire to love you, and of CarleI crave to hear. Is he not old, his primeHas he not passed? Men tell me he has livedMore than two hundred years; his body draggedThroughout so many lands; so many blowsUpon his shield!—So many mighty KingsTo beggary reduced!—When will he ceaseTo march on battle-fields?"—Then GanelonResponded:—"Such is not King Carle; no manAlive who sees and knows him but will tellHow our great Emperor is Baron true.I could not praise and honor him enough,For no man lives so valiant and so good.His valor ... who on earth could ever tell?His soul God with such virtue has illumed,I'd rather die than quit my noble lord!"Aoi.

The Pagan said:—"Amazed am I at CarleSo old and so white-haired; his age, I know,Two hundred years and more. His limbs he toiledAcross so many lands; so oft was struckBy swords and spears; so many kings compelledTo beg!—When will he cease to war?"—"Carle?—ne'er!"Ganelon answered, "while his nephew lives:No vassal like him 'neath the starry arch;And bold as he his comrade Olivier.The twelve Peers held by Carle so dear, behold!The vanguard form of twenty thousand knights;With them King Carle is safe, and fears no man."Aoi.

Again the Pagan:—"I am wonder-struckOn knowing Carle so old and so white-haired!Methinks he passed two hundred years; by armsHe won so many lands—so many woundsIn battle he received from trenchant swords!So many powerful kings on battle-fieldsConquered or slew!—When will he cease to war?""—Never!"—said Ganelon, "while lives Rollánd:From here to farthest east no knight his peerE'er lived: his comrade too, Count Olivier,Is brave; and the twelve Peers, so dear to Carle,The van-guard make of twenty thousand knights.Carle may have peace, and fears no living man!"Aoi.

"Fair Sire," said King Marsile to Ganelon,"Than mine no fairer people can you see:Four hundred thousand knights I can arrayIn combat 'gainst King Carle and 'gainst his Franks."—Ganelon says:—"The time has not yet come,Yea, and great loss your people then will have.But leave this folly, and to wisdom hold;Offer the King of treasures such a storeThat all the French will marvel at the gift.For twenty hostages that you will send,Back to Sweet France will Carle ere long repair.His rear-guard, notice well, will rest behind:There will Rollánd, his nephew, be, I trow,With Olivier the brave and courteous knight.Trust to my counsel and both Counts are doomed,Nay, Carle shall see his lofty pride cast downAnd never more shall covet war with you."Aoi.

[Thus King Marsile] said:—"Fair sire Ganelon,What means have I to kill the Count Rollànd?"Ganelon answered:—"This can I well say:The King will reach the wider pass of SizreAnd leave his rear behind, where great RollàndEke Olivier, whom both he greatly trusts,Will be the chiefs of twenty thousand Franks.On these your hundred thousand Pagans throw,And let them straightway make an onset fierce:Stricken and slain shall be the men of France;I say not that of yours none shall be slain,But follow up this fight with like attack,And Count Rollánd cannot escape them both,Then will you deeds of chivalry achieve,And free your life from war for evermore."Aoi.

"Who could contrive that there Rollánd should die,Would strike off Carle's right arm. Then on the fieldThat wond'rous host in death shall lie. No moreThereafter could King Carle such forces raise,And the Great Land at last would rest in peace."Marsile, this hearing, kissed him on the neck,And then began his treasures to display.Aoi.

Exclaimed Marsile:—"What further [shall I say?]No good adviser he of faith unsure.Swear if Rollánd be there that he shall die!"Thus answered Ganelon:—"Your will be done."Upon the relics of his sword MurgleisThe treason swore; thus forfeited himself.Aoi.

An ivory-faldstool there was set. MarsileThe order gives to bring a book before it,Mohammed's law and that of Tervagant,The Spanish Saracen thus took his oath:"If in the rear-guard Count Rollánd be found,He will attack him there with all his men;And, if it may be, there Rollánd shall die."Ganelon answers:—"May [our treaty thrive!]"Aoi.

Behold a Pagan, Valdabrun, who armedMarsile a Knight; with cheerful smile he saidTo Ganelon:—"Take this my sword; no manE'er drew its peer; the hilt alone is worthMore than a thousand marks.—For love I give it,But lend us help against the Count Rollánd,And show us how to find him in the rear.""—So shall it be," replies Count Ganelon;Whereon they kissed each other's chin and face.

Another Pagan came. 'Twas ClimorinWho gayly smiling, said to Ganelon:"My helmet take—None better have I seen,But help us now againstMarchisRollándThat we may throw dishonor on his name.""—Well shall it be," responded Ganelon,And then they kissed each other's lips and cheek.Aoi.

And now behold, comes Bramimunde the Queen;"Sire Ganelon," said she, "I love you much,You, by my sire and all our men esteemed.Two necklaces unto your wife I send,With jacinths and with amethysts and goldAdorned, worth more than all the wealth of Rome;Jewels so rich your Emp'ror never had."The Count receives and puts them in his hose.Aoi.

The King calls up Malduit, his treasurer:"Hast thou prepared my gifts for Carle the King?"Malduit responds:—"Yea sire, the whole are there:Seven hundred camels with their loads of goldAnd silver; then of hostages a score,The noblest ever lived beneath the stars."Aoi.

Marsile took by the shoulder GanelonAnd told him:—"Thou hast wisdom and art brave.By that great law ye hold the best, bewareThy heart fails not. Rich treasures will I giveTo thee: ten mules laden with purest goldFrom Araby; each year shall bring the like.Meantime of this great city take the keys,And in my name present this wealth to Carle.But let Rollánd be ordered to the rear.If in the pass or mount I find the knight,I swear to give him combat to the death."Says Ganelon:—"Methinks too long I stay."—He mounts his horse and goes upon his way.Aoi.

The Emperor nears his realm, and reaching nowThe city of Valterne sacked by RollàndAnd left in ruins, which thereafter layA hundred years a desert; there he waitsFor news of Ganelon, and tribute dueBy the great land of Spain. One morning whenThe early dawn was brightening into day,Count Ganelon drew nigh unto the camp.Aoi.

In early morn the Emperor arose.Having attended mass and matins both,Upon the verdant grass, before his tentHe stood, surrounded by the Count Rollánd,The valorous Olivier, and the Duke Naimes,With many more besides. There also cameThe perjurer, the treacherous Ganelon,Who, stepping forth, with most perfidious tongueBegan to speak:—"Hail! God save Carle the King!—I bring you here the keys of Sarraguce:Great treasures follow through my care conveyedWith hostages a score. So, guard them well.The King Marsile the brave bears not the blameIf I bring not the Kalif unto you.Myself three hundred thousand men in armsBeheld, with hauberks clad, and helmets clasped,Swords by their sides, hilts bright with gold inlaid,Who with him crossed the sea, not to submitTo Christ's law which they will not hold nor keep.But scarce five leagues had they sailed on the main,When wind and tempest rising, down they sank.All perished!... Never shall you see them more.Had but the Kalif lived, I would have broughtHim hither. For the Pagan King, know well,Ere you shall see this first month pass away,Your vassal will he be, with joinèd hands,And hold the realm of Spain a fief from you."Thus said the King:—"Thanks be to God for this!Well have you done, and great your recompenseShall be."—He bids a thousand trumpets sound...The camp is struck:—the Franks then load their mulesAnd set forth on their journey to Sweet France.Aoi.

King Carle the Great has made a waste of Spain,The cities violated, the castles seized.Now saith the King his war is at an end,And toward Sweet France the Emperor directsHis steed.... The Count Rollánd the pennon whiteHas planted on a hill, high 'gainst the sky.In all the country round the Franks their tentsAre pitching, while the Pagans ride alongThe mighty vales. In hauberk clad—their backsIn armor cased; with helmets clasped—sword girtOn thigh—shields on their necks—each lance in rest,Within a thicket on the mount they halt.Four hundred thousand men there wait the dawn.The French yet know it not. Ah God! what woe!Aoi.

Passes the day; the shades of night have fallen.Carle the great Emp'ror sleeps; and in a dreamHe marches through the deep defiles of Sizre.In his right hand his ashen spear he holds,Which suddenly Count Ganelon has snatchedFrom him, and shook and brandished in such wiseThat, breaking, high tow'rd Heav'n the splinters flew.Carle sleeps—naught from his slumber can arouse him.Aoi.

Another vision followed hereupon:He is in France, in hisChapelle, at Aix.A bear his right arm caught with such sharp fangs[That from the bone the flesh is torn away.]From toward Ardennes he saw a leopard come,Which in his dream, made on him fierce attack;But then a greyhound dashes from the hallUnto Carle's rescue, swift of leap and bound;First from the treach'rous bear the hound tears offAn ear, then with the leopard combat makes."See!" cry the French, "what battle fierce is here."But they know not which of the two will winThe field—Carle still asleep naught can awake.Aoi.

Vanished the night, and the clear dawn appeared.With noble mien the Emperor mounts his steed,And 'mid the host one thousand trumpets sound:"Barons," said Carle:—"You see those deep defilesAnd narrow passes—judge who in the rearWill take command." Said Ganelon:—"Rollánd,My step-son, whom among your valiant knightsYou prize the most." Carle hearing this, uponHim sternly looked:—"Thou art the devil's self,"Said he, "or else a mortal rage has stungThy heart! Say, who before me in the vanWill march? 'Twill be Ogier de Dannemarche!You have no better Baron for the post."Aoi.

When hears the Count Rollánd the lot has fallenUpon himself, as loyal knight he speaks:—"You, sire step-father, dear and well belovedMust be, since you have named me for the rear;Nor shall Carl'magne, the King of France, lose aught,Nor palfrey, nor fleet steed, if knowledge trueI have, nor male nor female mule that manCan ride, nor beast of burden, horse or ass,Unreckoned for with these good swords of ours."Said Ganelon:—"The truth you speak, I know."Aoi.

When hears Rollánd the rear shall be his lot,To his step-father thus in wrath he speaks:—"Ah! traitor, evil man of race impure,Thou thought'st to see me here let fall the gloveAs thou erst dropped the staff before the King!"Aoi.

The Count Rollánd [addressing thus Carl'magne:]"Give me the bow that now your hand doth hold,For, to my knowledge, none will e'er throw blameOn me for dropping it, as fell on earthYour right hand glove, when he received the staff."With head declined the Emperor remains:Oft plucks and twists the beard on lip and cheek,Nor can his eyes restrain their falling tears.Aoi.

Naimes after came—no better ever wasA vassal in the court. He said to Carle:"You hear him; greatly wroth is Count Rollánd;The rear guard is assigned to his command;No baron have you that with him would makeExchange. Give him the bow and your hand has bent,And look for those who best may lend him help."Carle gives the bow which Count Rollánd receives.Aoi.

The Emperor calls to Rollánd and says:—"Fair sire, my nephew, truly you must knowHalf of my army will I leave with you;Keep them; in their good help your safety lies."Then said the Count:—"Of this will I do naught!May God confound me, ere my race I shame;But twenty thousand valiant knights I keep!Through the defiles you can in safety passAnd fear no harm from man while yet I live."Aoi.

Rollánd sits on his steed, and nigh him ridesHis comrade Olivier. There came Gerin,Gerier the brave, Othon and Berengier;There came Sansun, Anseïs the fierce; there cameAlso Gerard de Roussillon the old,Together with theGascuinEngelier.The Archbishop said:—"I, by my head, will go!""—And I with you," exclaimed the Count Gualtier;"Rollánd's own man am I, and follow him!"From all are chosen twenty thousand knights.Aoi.

The Count Rollánd calls up Gualtier de l'Hum:"One thousand Franks of France, our land, array,And with them cover heights and passes, thatThe Emperor may lose none of his host."Responds Gualtier:—"This am I bound to doFor you."—Forthwith one thousand Franks of FranceO'errun each height and pass.—None shall descendDespite ill news, ere seven hundred swordsUnsheathe. That very day King AlmarisWho rules Belferne, met them with battle fierce.Aoi.

High are the mounts, the valleys murky-dark—The rocks are black, the gorges terrible.The French toiled through them painfully; their marchWas heard for fifteen leagues; then the Great landReaching, they viewed Gascuigne, their lord's estate,And sweet remembrance felt of honors, fiefs,Of lovely maidens and of noble wives:Not one is there but weeps from tenderness;But more than all is Carle distressed; he mournsHis nephew left in the defiles of Spain....By pity moved he cannot choose but weep.Aoi.

The twelve Peers staid in Spain. A thousand scoreOf Franks are under their command, to whomUnknown is wavering fear or dread of death.Carl'magne to France returns—within his cloakHe hides his face—Naimes, riding near, inquired:"What thought, O King, weighs now upon your heart?"—"Who questions me doth wrong. So sad am II can but mourn. Sweet France by GanelonShall be destroyed. An angel in my sleepAppeared, and, dreaming, I beheld my lanceBroken up within my hand by him who namedMy nephew for the rear guard ... and I leftHim in a foreign land;—O mighty God,Should I lose him, I ne'er should find his peer!"Aoi.

Carle the great King, no more restrains his tears:One hundred thousand Franks great sympathyGive him, with strangest fear for Count Rollánd.Vile Ganelon, the wretch, this treason wrought!He, from the Pagan King received rich giftsOf gold and silver, silk and ciclatons,Lions and camels, horses, mules. Behold,King Marsile summons all his Counts from Spain,His Viscounts, Dukes and Almazours; with theseThe Emirs, and the sons of noble Counts;Four hundred thousand gathered in three days,In Sarraguce are beaten all the drums;Mohammed's image to the loftiest towerIs raised on high.—No Pagan but adoresAnd prays before him.—They then madly rideThroughout the land, o'er mountain and o'er vale.At last they see the gonfalons of France;It is the rear-guard of the twelve compeers:Nor will they fail to give them battle now.Aoi.

Hastes to the front the nephew of Marsile,Goading the mule that bears him, with a staff.Says to his uncle, gayly laughing loud:"Fair King, till now I served you well; for youEndured hard pain and grief.—The only feeI ask is this:—To strike Rollánd! I swearTo give him death with my good trenchant sword,And if his help Mohammed will bestow,On me, forever shall all Spain be free,From the defiles of Aspre to Durestant.Carle then will yield,—the Franks, surrender all;No more in all your life will you have war."The King Marsile bestows on him the glove.Aoi.

The nephew of Marsile holds in his graspThe glove, and to the King with haughty prideSpeaks:—"Fair Sire King, your gift I dearly prize;Choose you for me eleven of your Knights,And I will go and combat the twelve Peers."The first response was that of Falsaun:He was the brother of the King Marsile.—"Fair nephew, we shall go, both you and I;In battle side by side, we shall engage.The rear of Carle's great host is doomed to die!"Aoi.

King Corsalis stands on the other side;He comes from Barbary; a soul of guile.Still speaks he there not unlike vassal trueWho would not for the gold of heav'n be base:"If there I find Rollànd, we meet in fight.I am the third; now choose ye out the fourth."See you the spurring Malprimis de Brigal,Faster on foot than runs the fastest steed?Before Marsile in a loud voice he cries:"I shall my body take to Ronceval;If there I find Rollànd, by me he dies."Aoi.

An Emir now is there, from Balaguer.Of handsome form, with proud and cheerful face,When on his steed he vaults, well doth he showWith what great pride his armor's mail is borne.For truest vassalage he is renowned;Were he but Christian, 'twere a baron true.Before Marsile he stands and loudly cries:"My body I will take to Ronceval;If there I face Rollànd his doom is sure,Eke Olivier and the twelve peers, all die.The Franks shall perish in despair and shame.Carl'magne is old and dotes. O'erwhelmed, at lastHe will give up this waging war, and SpainForever shall be kept beneath our sway."The King Marsile on him bestows great thanks.Aoi.

Then from the Moorish land an AlmazourSteps forth. All Spain can show no greater wretch.Before Marsile he makes a boastful vaunt:"To Ronceval will I my people lead—Full twenty thousand men with lance and shield.If I Rollànd find there, I pledge his death;No after-day shall dawn but Carle shall weep."Aoi.

From elsewhere comes Turgis de Turteluse.He is a count, and o'er this city wieldsHis sway; hate unto Christians has he vowed,And stands with all the rest before Marsile.He thus addressed the king: "Ne'er be dismayed!More worth Mohammed than Saint Pierre of Rome;But serve him well, the honor of the field[Is ours]. I'll meet Rollánd at RoncevalWhere none can guard him. Mark this sword of mine;Its blade, so good and long, in desperate fightWill cross with Durendal; and you will hearWhich of the two shall win the victory.Abandoned unto us the French must die.The old King Carle will have both grief and shame,And never more on earth will wear a crown."Aoi.

Comes up besides Escremiz de Valterne,A Saracen, and of that country lord.Before Marsile among the throng he cries:"To Ronceval I go, to crush the proud;Nor shall Rollánd, if there, bear off his head,Nor Olivier, chief of the other knights;The twelve peers, all are doomed to perish there.The French shall die, and France become a waste.Of such good vassals Carle will see the loss."Aoi.

And came with Esturgant, Estramaris,His friend; both wretches, traitors, villains are....Thus spake Marsile: "Come forth, Seigneurs; ye bothTo Ronceval's defiles shall go and helpMe there to lead my host." Both answer: "King,At your command, Rollánd and OlivierWill we assault. No power can the twelve peersFrom death defend against our trenchant swordsWhose blades shall redden with hot blood. The FrenchAre doomed to death and Carle to doleful life.France, the Great Land, shall through our arms becomeYour realm. Come, King, to see this verified;The Emperor's self a captive we'll present."Aoi.

There hastens Margariz de SibilieWho holds the country toward the distant sea.His beauty such, all ladies are his friends;Not one looks on him but to smile, nor canRestrain her laughing joy. No Pagan elseMore glorious deeds of chivalry achieved;Pressed through the crowd, he cries above the restUnto the king: "Be not dismayed, for ITo Ronceval will go to kill Rollánd,And Olivier shall not escape alive;To martyrdom the twelve Peers are condemned.See my good sword with gold-embossèd hilt,Given me by theAmiralzof Prime;I pledge my faith it will be dyed in blood.The French shall perish, France be steeped in shame,And Carle the old, with beard all blossom-white,Shall see no day uncursed by grief and wrath.Before one year we shall have conquered FranceAnd slept beneath the roofs of Saint-Denis."At this, the Pagan king bowed low his head.Aoi.

Next you can see Chernubles de [Val-neire].His hair so long, it sweeps the earth, and heCan, for his sport, lift greater weight than bearFour hundred loaded mules.—In his [far-land]They say—the sun ne'er shines, corn cannot grow,The rain falls not, the dew wets not the soil;No stone there but is black, and it is saidBy some that in that land the demons dwell.Thus said Chernubles:—"My sword hangs at my belt;At Ronceval I will dye it crimson! shouldI find Rollánd the brave upon my path,Nor strike him down, then trust to me no more;This my good sword shall conquer Durendal,The French shall die, and France must be destroyed."At these words, rally King Marsile's twelve Peers,And lead one hundred thousand SaracensWho for the battle hasten and prepare,Arming themselves beneath a grove of pines.Aoi.

The Pagans put their Moorish hauberks on;The greater part are triply lined; they laceTheir helms of Sarraguce, gird to their thighsSwords of Vienna steel; bright are their shields;Their lances from Valence; their banners whiteAnd blue and crimson. Mules and sumpter-beastsAre left behind. They mount their battle steeds,And forward press in closely serried lines.Clear was the day, and brilliant was the sun;No armor but reflected back the light.A thousand clarions sound their cheering blastsSo loud, the French can hear—. Says Olivier:"Rollànd, companion, hearken! Soon, methinks,We shall have battle with the Saracens!"To which Rollánd: "God grant it may be so.Here must we do our duty to our King;A man should for his Lord and for his causeDistress endure, and bear great heat and cold,Lose all, even to his very hair and skin!'Tis each man's part to strike with mighty blows,That evil songs of us may ne'er be sung.The wrong cause have the Pagans, we the right.No ill example e'er shall come from me."Aoi.

Olivier from the summit of a hillOn his right hand looks o'er a grassy vale,And views the Pagans' onward marching hordes;Then straight he called his faithful friend Rollánd:"From Spain a distant rumbling noise I hear,So many hauberks white and flashing helmsI see!—This will inflame our French men's hearts.The treason is the work of GanelonWho named us for this post before the King.""Hush! Olivier!"—the Count Rollánd replies,"'Tis my step-father, speak no other word."Aoi.

Count Olivier is posted on a hillFrom whence Spain's Kingdom he descries, and allThe swarming host of Saracens; their helmsSo bright bedecked with gold, and their great shields,Their 'broidered hauberks, and their waving flags,He cannot count the squadrons; in such crowdsThey come, his sight reached not unto their end.Then all bewildered he descends the hill,Rejoins the French, and all to them relates.Aoi.

Said Olivier: "I have seen Pagans moreThan eyes e'er saw upon the earth; at leastOne hundred thousand warriors armed with shields,In their white hauberks clad, with helmets laced,Lances in rest, and burnished brazen spears.Battle ye will have, such as ne'er was before.French Lords, may God inspire you with his strength!Stand firm your ground, that we may not succumb."The French say: "Cursed be those who fly the field!Ready to die, not one shall fail you here."Aoi.

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