Of the Death of Marsir, and the Flight of Beligard.
As Orlando was returning after the battle was over to view the Saracen army, he met a certain black Saracen, who had fled from the field, and concealed himself in the woods, whom he seized and bound to a tree with four bands. Then, ascending a lofty hill, he surveyed the Moorish army, and seeing likewise many Christians retreating by the Ronceval road he blew his horn, and was joined by about a hundred of them, with whom he returned to the Saracen, and promised to give him his life if he would show him Marsir; which having performed, he set him at liberty. Animating his little band, Orlando was soon amidst the thickest of the enemy, and finding one of larger stature than the rest, he hewed him and his horse in twain, so that the halves fell different ways. Marsir and his companions then fled in all directions, but Orlando, trusting in the divine aid, rushed forward, and overcoming all opposition, slew Marsir on the spot. By this time every one of the Christians was slain, and Orlando himself sorely wounded in five places by lances, and grievously battered likewise with stones. Beligard, seeing Marsir had fallen, retired from the field with the rest of the Saracens; whilst Theodoric and Baldwin, and some few other Christians, made their way through the pass, towards which Orlando, wandering, came likewise to the foot of it, and, alighting from his steed, stretched himself on the ground, beneath a tree, near a block of marble, that stood upright in the meadows of Ronceval.
Here drawing his sword,Durendal, which signifies a hard blow, a sword of exquisite workmanship, fine temper, and resplendent brightness, which he would sooner have lost his arm than parted with, as he held it in his hand, regarding it earnestly, addressed it in these words: "O sword of unparalleled brightness, excellent dimensions, admirable temper, and hilt of the whitest ivory, decorated with a splendid cross of gold, topped by a berylline apple, engraved with the sacred name of God, endued with keenness and every other virtue, who now shall wield thee in battle? who shall call thee master? He that possessed thee was never conquered, never daunted at the foe; phantoms never appalled him. Aided by Omnipotence, with thee did he destroy the Saracen, exalt the faith of Christ, and acquire consummate glory. Oft hast thou vindicated the blood of Jesus, against Pagans, Jews, and heretics; oft hewed off the hand and foot of the robber, fulfilling divine justice. O happy sword, keenest of the keen; never was one like thee! He that made thee, made not thy fellow! Not one escaped with life from thy stroke! If the slothful timid soldier should now possess thee, or the base Saracen, my grief would be unspeakable! Thus, then, do I prevent thy falling into their hands."—He then struck the block of marble thrice, which cleft it in the midst, and broke the sword in twain.
Of the Sound of Orlando's Horn; of his Confession, and Death.
He now blew a loud blast with his horn, to summon any Christian concealed in the adjacent woods to his assistance, or to recal his friends beyond the pass. This horn was endued with such power, that all other horns were split by its sound; and it is said that Orlando at that time blew it with such vehemence, that he burst the veins and nerves of his neck. The sound reached the King's ears, who lay encamped in the valley still called by his name, about eight miles from Ronceval, towards Gascony, being carried so far by supernatural power. Charles would have flown to his succour, but was prevented by Ganalon, who, conscious of Orlando's sufferings, insinuated it was usual with him to sound his horn on light occasions. "He is, perhaps," said he, "pursuing some wild beast, and the sound echoes through the woods; it will be fruitless, therefore, to seek him." O wicked traitor, deceitful as Judas! What dost thou merit?
Orlando now grew very thirsty, and cried for water to Baldwin, who just then approached him; but unable to find any, and seeing him so near his end, he blessed him, and, again mounting his steed, galloped off for assistance to the army. Immediately after Theodoric came up, and, bitterly grieving to see him in this condition, bade him strengthen his soul by confessing his faith. Orlando had that morning received the blessed Eucharist, and confessed his sins before he went to battle, this being the custom with all the warriors at that time, for which purpose bishops and monks attended the army to give them absolution. The martyr of Christ then cast up his eyes to heaven, and cried, "O Lord Jesus, for whose sake I came into these barbarous regions; through thy aid only have I conquered innumerable Pagans, enduring blows and wounds, reproach, derision, and fatigue, heat and cold, hunger and thirst. To thee do I commit my soul in this trying hour. Thou, who didst suffer on the cross for those who deserved not thy favour, deliver my soul, I beseech thee, from eternal death! I confess myself a most grievous sinner, but thou mercifully dost forgive our sins; thou pitiest every one, and hatest nothing which thou hast made, covering the sins of the penitent in whatsoever day they turn unto thee with true contrition. O thou, who didst spare thy enemies, and the woman taken in adultery; who didst pardon Mary Magdalen, and look with compassion on the weeping Peter; who didst likewise open the gate of Paradise to the thief that confessed thee upon the cross; have mercy upon me, and receive my soul into thy everlasting rest!
"Thou art he who preventest our bodies from perishing in the grave, changing them to greater glory; thou, O Lord, art he, who hast said, 'thou rather wouldst the sinner should live than die.' I believe in thee with my whole heart, and confess thee with my lips; therefore I beseech thee to receive me into the enjoyment of a better life when this is ended. Let my sense and intellects be in the same measure improved as the shadow differs from the substance." And now, grasping the flesh and skin near his heart (as Theodoric afterwards related), he continued his speech with bitter groanings. "O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, and of the blessed Virgin, with my inmost soul do I confess that thou, my Redeemer, dost live, and that at the day of judgment I shall rise, and in my flesh behold thee, my God and my Saviour!" And thrice, thus grasping his breast, did he repeat those words; and, laying his hand upon his eyes in like manner, he said, "And these eyes shall behold thee!" Uncovering them, he again looked up to heaven, and, signing himself with the sign of the cross, he uttered, "All earthly things are vain and unprofitable; I am now taught of Christ, that eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive, the good things that God hath prepared for them that love him." Then, stretching his hands to heaven, he uttered this prayer for them that perished in the battle:—
"Let thy bowels of compassion, O Lord, be open to thy faithful servants, who have this day perished by the hand of the barbarians. Hither did they come to vindicate thy faith; for thy sake are they fallen. Do thou, O Lord, mercifully blot out their offences, accounting them worthy to be delivered from the pains of hell. Send thy archangels to rescue their souls from darkness, and bear them to the regions of light, where thy blessed martyrs eternally live and reign with thee, who dost live and reign with God the Father and the Holy Spirit, to all ages. Amen!"—Immediately after this confession and prayer, his soul winged its flight from his body, and was borne by angels to Paradise, where he reigns in transcendent glory, united by his meritorious deeds to the blessed choir of martyrs.
Of Orlando's Rank and Virtue.
No longer it becomes the heart to mournA hero of immortal joys possessed;Of noble rank, and noble parents born,For nobler deeds in heaven with glory blest.To none inferior, thine was native worth;Thy feet still tending to the temple's bounds;A glorious model to the wondering earth,A faithful balsam to thy country's wounds.The Clergy's refuge, and the Widow's friend,Bounteous to guests, and liberal to the poor;To heaven thy parting steps may safely bend,Whose works have opened wide salvation's door.Thy tongue the fount of heavenly eloquence,That still would slake the thirst, and never pall,Endowed with graceful wit, and manly sense,Proclaimed thee common father, friend of all.Blest Chief, farewell! but not the marbled urnThat holds thy ashes can thy soul contain:Our wondering eyes to heaven above we turn,Where thou for ever dost triumphant reign.
No longer it becomes the heart to mournA hero of immortal joys possessed;Of noble rank, and noble parents born,For nobler deeds in heaven with glory blest.
To none inferior, thine was native worth;Thy feet still tending to the temple's bounds;A glorious model to the wondering earth,A faithful balsam to thy country's wounds.
The Clergy's refuge, and the Widow's friend,Bounteous to guests, and liberal to the poor;To heaven thy parting steps may safely bend,Whose works have opened wide salvation's door.
Thy tongue the fount of heavenly eloquence,That still would slake the thirst, and never pall,Endowed with graceful wit, and manly sense,Proclaimed thee common father, friend of all.
Blest Chief, farewell! but not the marbled urnThat holds thy ashes can thy soul contain:Our wondering eyes to heaven above we turn,Where thou for ever dost triumphant reign.
Archbishop Turpin's Vision, and the King's Lamentation for Orlando.
What more shall we say? Whilst the soul of the blessed Orlando was leaving his body, I, Turpin, standing near the King in the valley of Charles, at the moment I was celebrating the mass of the dead, namely, on the 16th day of June, fell into a trance, and, hearing the angelic choir sing aloud, I wondered what it might be. Now, when they had ascended on high, behold, there came after them a phalanx of terrible ones, like warriors returning from the spoil, bearing their prey. Presently I inquired of one of them what it meant, and was answered, "We are bearing the soul of Marsir to hell, but yonder is Michael bearing the Horn-winder to heaven." When mass was over, I told the King what I had seen; and whilst I was yet speaking, behold Baldwin rode up on Orlando's horse, and related what had befallen him, and where he had left the hero in the agonies of death, beside a stone in the meadows at the foot of the mountain; whereupon the whole army immediately marched back to Ronceval.
The King himself first discovered the hero, lying in the form of a cross, and began to lament over him with bitter sighs and sobs, wringing his hands, and tearing his hair and beard. "O right arm," cried he, "of thy Sovereign's body; honour of the French; sword of justice, inflexible spear, inviolable breast-plate, shield of safety; a Judas Maccabeus in probity, a Samson in strength; in death like Saul and Jonathan; brave, experienced soldier, great and noble defender of the Christians, scourge of the Saracens; a wall to the clergy, the widow's and orphan's friend, just and faithful in judgment!—Renowned Count of the French, valiant captain of our armies, why did I leave thee here to perish? How can I behold thee dead, and not die myself? Why hast thou left me sorrowful and alone? A poor miserable King! But thou art exalted to the kingdom of heaven, and dost enjoy the company of angels and martyrs. Without cease I shall lament over thee, as David did over Saul and Jonathan, and his son Absalom.
Thy soul is fled to happier scenes above,And left us mourning to lament thee here;Blest in thy God and Saviour's fav'ring love,Who wipes from every eye the trickling tear.Six lustres and eight years thou dwelledst below,But snatched from earth to heaven, thou reign'st on high,Where feasts divine immortal spirits know,And joys transcendent fill the starry sky.
Thy soul is fled to happier scenes above,And left us mourning to lament thee here;Blest in thy God and Saviour's fav'ring love,Who wipes from every eye the trickling tear.
Six lustres and eight years thou dwelledst below,But snatched from earth to heaven, thou reign'st on high,Where feasts divine immortal spirits know,And joys transcendent fill the starry sky.
Thus did Charles mourn for Orlando to the very last day of his life. On the spot where he died he encamped; and caused the body to be embalmed with balsam, myrrh, and aloes. The whole camp watched it that night, honouring his corse with hymns and songs, and innumerable torches and fires kindled on the adjacent mountains.
How the Sun stood still for three Days;the Slaughter of four thousand Saracens; and theDeath of Ganalon.
Early on the next day they came to the field of battle in Ronceval, and found the bodies of their friends, many of them still alive, but mortally wounded. Oliver was lying on his face, pinioned to the ground in the form of a cross, and flayed from the neck to his finger-ends; pierced also with darts and javelins, and bruised with clubs. The mourning was now dismal; every one wept for his friend, till the groves and valleys resounded with wailing. Charles solemnly vowed to pursue the Pagans till he found them; and, marching in pursuit with his whole army, the sun stood still for three days, till he overtook them on the banks of the Ebro, near Saragossa, feasting and rejoicing for their success. Attacking them valiantly, he then slew four thousand, and dispersed the rest. What further? We now returned to Ronceval, bearing with us the sick and wounded to the spot where Orlando fell. The Emperor then made strict inquiries after the treachery of Ganalon, which began to be universally rumoured about. Trial was ordained by single combat, Pinabel for Ganalon, and Theodoric for the Accuser; when, the latter gaining the victory, the treason was proved. Ganalon was now sentenced to be torn to pieces by four wild horses, which was accordingly his end.
The Embalming of the Dead.
They now embalmed the dead bodies of their friends; some with myrrh and balsam, some with salt, taking out the bowels, and filling the bodies with aromatic drugs, or with salt only. Some were buried on the spot; others conveyed to France; but many that became putrid and offensive were buried on the road. Wooden carriages were made for the dead, but the sick and wounded were borne away on litters upon their shoulders.
Of the consecrated Cemeteries of Arles and Bordeaux.
Two chief burying grounds were now consecrated at Arles and Bordeaux by seven Bishops: Maximin of Aix, Trophimus of Arles, Paul of Narbonne, Saturnine of Thoulouse, Frontorne of Perigord, Martial of Limoges, and Eutropius of Xaintonge; where the major part of the warriors were interred that fell in the battles of Ronceval and Mount Garzim.
Of the Burial of Orlando and his Companionsat Blaye and other Places.
Charles deferred the burial of Orlando till he came to Blaye. His body was laid upon gold tapestry on two mules, covered with a pall, and at length honourably interred in the Church of St Roman, which he had formerly built, and endowed with regular canons. His helmet was placed upon his head, and his ivory horn at his feet. But the body was afterwards translated to St. Severin in Bordeaux, the chief city of these provinces, where it was joyfully welcomed, as it had liberally tasted his munificence.
At Blaye likewise was buried Oliver, and Galdebode, King of Friezeland; Ogier, King of Dacia; Aristagnus, King of Brittany; Garin, Duke of Lorraine; and many other warriors. Happy town, graced with the sepulchres of so many heroes! At Bordeaux, in the cemetery of St. Severin, were buried Gayfere, King of Bordeaux; Angelerus, Duke of Aquitaine; Lambert, Prince of Bourges; Galerius Galin; Rinaldo of the White Thorn; Walter of the Olive Trees; Vulterinus, and five thousand of their soldiers. Ocellus, Count of Nantes, and most of the inhabitants of Brittany, were buried in that city. Charles gave twelve thousand pieces of silver and talents of gold for the repose of their souls, and fed the poor for many miles round the city of Blaye; endowing the church likewise with rich vestments and silver ornaments, for the love he bore Orlando; freeing the Canons from all service but prayers for him and his companions. He moreover clothed and entertained thirty poor men on the anniversary of their martyrdom, establishing Minstrels, Masses, and other solemnities, which the Canons were not to neglect on that day, as they hoped to merit a crown of glory, which they promised to perform.
Of those Buried at Arles.
After this the King and his army proceeded by the way of Gascony and Thoulouse, and came to Arles, where we found the army of Burgundy, which had left us in the hostile valley, bringing their dead by the way of Morbihan and Thoulouse, to bury them in the plain of Arles. Here we performed the rites of Estolfo, Count of Champagne; of Solomon; Sampson, Duke of Burgundy; Arnold of Berlanda; Alberic of Burgundy; Gumard, Esturinite, Hato, Juonius, Berard, Berengaire, and Naaman, Duke of Bourbon, and of ten thousand of their soldiers. Constantine, Governor of Rome, and other Romans, were conveyed thither by sea, and buried in Apulia. The King gave twelve thousand pieces of silver, and as many talents of gold, for the repose of their souls, and to the poor of Arles.
Of the Council held at St. Denis.
We then came to Vienne, where I remained to be healed of the scars and wounds I received in Spain. The King, much fatigued, at length arrived at Paris; and, assembling a council of his chief princes and bishops at St. Denis, returned thanks to God for his victory over the Pagans, and gave all France as a manor to that church, in the same way as St. Paul and St. Clement had formerly endowed the bishopric of Rome. The French Bishops were likewise to be ordained there, and not made subject to the See of Rome. Then, standing by the tomb of St. Denis, he entreated the Lord for all who had died in his cause.
The very next night St. Denis appeared to the King in his sleep, assuring him that full pardon of sin was granted to all that followed him, and had fought and perished in the wars with the Saracens; that they likewise should recover of their wounds who had bestowed money on the church; which being made known by the King, very liberal offerings were made by the people, who thus acquired the name of Franks; and the whole land, formerly called Gaul, was now changed to France, as being freed from all servitude, and having dominion over other nations. The King then went to Aix-la-Chapelle, in the county of Liege, to bathe and drink the waters, where he liberally endowed St. Mary's Church with gold and silver, ordering it to be painted with ancient and modern histories, and his palace to be decorated with the representation of his wars in Spain; with emblems of the seven liberal arts and other excellent embellishments.
Of the King's Death.
Soon after, the King's approaching death was revealed to me; for, behold, as I was praying in the church of Vienne, I fell into a trance, as I was singing psalms, and saw innumerable companies of soldiers pass before me by the Lorraine road. A certain one, black as an Ethiop, followed them, of whom I inquired whither he was going, and received for answer that he was awaiting the death of Charles to take possession of his soul. "I conjure you, then," said I, "by the name of the Lord Jesus, to return when you have completed your errand." When I had rested some time, and begun to explain the psalms, behold they returned back, and, speaking to the same person I before addressed, I inquired whom he had been seeking, and was answered, "the Gallician;" but the stones and timber of the churches he founded balanced so greatly in his favour, that his good works outweighed his bad, and his soul was snatched from us, and at this the demon vanished. Thus I understood Charles died that day, and was carried into the bosom of God and St. James. But as I had requested him, before we parted at Vienne, to send me notice of his decease in case it preceded mine, being then grievously sick, and remembering his promise, he encharged a certain learned soldier to bring me word the moment he died. What more need I add? The messenger arrived on the fifteenth day after it happened. He had, indeed, been grievously afflicted with illness from the hour he left Spain, and suffered still more in mind than in body for the friends he lost on the unfortunate 16th of June. On the same day that I saw the vision, namely, on the 5th of February, in the year of our Lord 814, he departed this life, and was sumptuously buried in the round church of St. Mary, which he had himself built; and this sign I was credibly informed happened yearly for three years together before his death,—"The Sun and Moon became dark, and his name, Charles the Prince, inscribed on the church, was totally obliterated of itself; and the portico likewise, between the church and the palace, fell to the very foundation." The wooden bridge also which he built six years before over the Rhine at Mentz was destroyed by fire, self-kindled. And the same day, as a traveller was on his journey, he saw a great flame, like the flame of a funeral pile, pass from right to left before him; which terrifying him greatly, he fell from his horse, but was presently relieved by his friends.
We therefore believe that he now enjoys the crown of the blessed martyrs, whose labours he imitated, whose pattern and example he followed. Whereby we may understand, that whoever builds a church to God's glory, provides for himself a residence in his kingdom. For this cause was Charles snatched from the hands of demons, and borne by good angels to heavenly habitations.
PART I.The Moor CalaynosThe Escape of GayferosMelisendraThe Admiral GuarinosThe March of Bernardo del CarpioLady Alda's DreamThe Complaint of the Count of SaldenhaThe Funeral of the Count of SaldenhaBernardo and AlphonsoPART II.The Young CidXimena Demands VengeanceThe Cid and the Five Moorish KingsThe Cid's CourtshipThe Cid's WeddingThe Cid and the LeperBaviecaThe Excommunication of the CidPART III.Count Alarcos and the Infanta Solisa
In the following version I have taken liberty to omit a good many of the introductory stanzas of the famousCoplas de Calainos. The reader will remember that this ballad is alluded to in Don Quixote, where the Knight's nocturnal visit to Toboso is described.
It is generally believed to be among the most ancient, and certainly was among the most popular, of all the ballads in the Cancionero.
I."I had six Moorish nurses, but the seventh was not a Moor,The Moors they gave me milk enow, but the Christian gave me lore;And she told me ne'er to listen, though sweet the words might be,Till he that spake had proved his troth, and pledged a gallant fee."—II."Fair damsel," quoth Calaynos, "if thou wilt go with me,Say what may win thy favour, and thine that gift shall be.Fair stands the castle on the rock, the city in the vale,And bonny is the red red gold, and rich the silver pale."—III."Fair sir," quoth she, "virginity I never will lay downFor gold, nor yet for silver, for castle, nor for town;But I will be your leman for the heads of certain peers—And I ask but three—Rinaldo's—Roland's—and Olivier's."—IV.He kissed her hand where she did stand, he kissed her lips also,And "Bring forth," he cries, "my pennon, for to Paris I must go."—I wot ye saw them rearing his banner broad right soon,Whereon revealed his bloody field its pale and crescent moon.V.That broad bannere the Moore did rear, ere many days were gone,In foul disdain of Charlemagne, by the church of good Saint John;In the midst of merry Paris, on the bonny banks of Seine,Shall never scornful Paynim that pennon rear again.VI.His banner he hath planted high, and loud his trumpet blown,That all the twelve might hear it well around King Charles's throne;The note he blew right well they knew; both Paladin and PeerHad the trumpet heard of that stern lord in many a fierce career.VII.It chanced the King, that fair morning, to the chace had made him bowne,With many a knight of warlike might, and prince of high renown;Sir Reynold of Montalban, and Claros' Lord, Gaston,Behind him rode, and Bertram good, that reverend old Baron.VIII.Black D'Ardennes' eye of mastery in that proud troop was seen,And there was Urgel's giant force, and Guarinos' princely mien;Gallant and gay upon that day was Baldwin's youthful cheer,But first did ride, by Charles's side, Roland and Olivier.IX.Now in a ring around the King, not far in the greenwood,Awaiting all the huntsman's call, it chanced the nobles stood;"Now list, mine earls, now list!" quoth Charles, "yon breeze will come again,Some trumpet-note methinks doth float from the bonny banks of Seine."—X.He scarce had heard the trumpet, the word he scarce had said,When among the trees he near him sees a dark and turbaned head;"Now stand, now stand at my command, bold Moor," quoth Charlemagne,"That turban green, how dare it be seen among the woods of Seine."—XI."My turban green must needs be seen among the woods of Seine,"The Moor replied, "since here I ride in quest of Charlemagne—For I serve the Moor Calaynos, and I his defiance bringTo every lord that sits at the board of Charlemagne your King.XII."Now lordlings fair, if anywhere in the wood ye've seen him riding,O tell me plain the path he has ta'en—there is no cause for chiding;For my lord hath blown his trumpet by every gate of Paris—Long hours in vain, by the bank of Seine, upon his steed he tarries."—XIII.When the Emperor had heard the Moor, full red was his old cheek,"Go back, base cur, upon the spur, for I am he you seek—Go back, and tell your master to commend him to Mahoun,For his soul shall dwell with him in hell, or ere yon sun go down.XIV."Mine arm is weak, my hairs are grey," (thus spake King Charlemagne,)"Would for one hour I had the power of my young days again,As when I plucked the Saxon from out his mountain den—O soon should cease the vaunting of this proud Saracen!XV."Though now mine arm be weakened, though now my hairs be grey,The hard-won praise of other days cannot be swept away—If shame there be, my liegemen, that shame on you must lie—Go forth, go forth, good Roland; to-night this Moor must die."—XVI.Then out and spake rough Roland—"Ofttimes I've thinned the ranksOf the hot Moor, and when all was o'er have won me little thanks;Some carpet knight will take delight to do this doughty feat,Whom damsels gay shall well repay with their smiles and whispers sweet!"—XVII.Then out and spake Sir Baldwin—the youngest peer was he,The youngest and the comeliest—"Let none go forth but me;Sir Roland is mine uncle, and he may in safety jeer,But I will show the youngest may be Sir Roland's peer."—XVIII."Nay, go not thou," quoth Charlemagne, "thou art my gallant youth,And braver none I look upon; but thy cheek it is too smooth;And the curls upon thy forehead they are too glossy bright;—Some elder peer must couch his spear against this crafty knight."—XIX.But away, away goes Baldwin, no words can stop him now,Behind him lies the greenwood, he hath gained the mountain's brow,He reineth first his charger, within the churchyard green,Where, striding slow the elms below, the haughty Moor is seen.XX.Then out and spake Calaynos—"Fair youth, I greet thee well;Thou art a comely stripling, and if thou with me wilt dwell,All for the grace of thy sweet face, thou shalt not lack thy fee,Within my lady's chamber a pretty page thou'lt be."—XXI.An angry man was Baldwin, when thus he heard him speak,"Proud knight," quoth he, "I come with thee a bloody spear to break."—O, sternly smiled Calaynos, when thus he heard him say,—O loudly as he mounted his mailèd barb did neigh.XXII.One shout, one thrust, and in the dust young Baldwin lies full low—No youthful knight could bear the might of that fierce warrior's blow;Calaynos draws his falchion, and waves it to and fro,"Thy name now say, and for mercy pray, or to hell thy soul must go."—XXIII.The helpless youth revealed the truth. Then said the conqueror—"I spare thee for thy tender years, and for thy great valour;But thou must rest thee captive here, and serve me on thy knee,For fain I'd tempt some doughtier peer to come and rescue thee."XXIV.Sir Roland heard that haughty word, (he stood behind the wall,)His heart, I trow, was heavy enow, when he saw his kinsman fall;But now his heart was burning, and never a word he said,But clasped his buckler on his arm, his helmet on his head.XXV.Another sight saw the Moorish knight, when Roland blew his horn,To call him to the combat in anger and in scorn;All cased in steel from head to heel, in the stirrup high he stood,The long spear quivered in his hand, as if athirst for blood.XXVI.Then out and spake Calaynos—"Thy name I fain would hear;A coronet on thy helm is set; I guess thou art a Peer."—Sir Roland lifted up his horn, and blew another blast,"No words, base Moor," quoth Roland, "this hour shall be thy last."—XXVII.I wot they met full swiftly, I wot the shock was rude;Down fell the misbeliever, and o'er him Roland stood;Close to his throat the steel he brought, and plucked his beard full sore—"What devil brought thee hither?—speak out or die, false Moor!"—XXVIII."O! I serve a noble damsel, a haughty maid of Spain,And in evil day I took my way, that I her grace might gain;For every gift I offered, my lady did disdain,And craved the ears of certain Peers that ride with Charlemagne."—XXIX.Then loudly laughed rough Roland—"Full few will be her tears,It was not love her soul did move, when she bade thee beardthe peers."—With that he smote upon his throat, and spurned his crest in twain,"No more," he cries, "this moon will rise above the woods of Seine."
"I had six Moorish nurses, but the seventh was not a Moor,The Moors they gave me milk enow, but the Christian gave me lore;And she told me ne'er to listen, though sweet the words might be,Till he that spake had proved his troth, and pledged a gallant fee."—
"Fair damsel," quoth Calaynos, "if thou wilt go with me,Say what may win thy favour, and thine that gift shall be.Fair stands the castle on the rock, the city in the vale,And bonny is the red red gold, and rich the silver pale."—
"Fair sir," quoth she, "virginity I never will lay downFor gold, nor yet for silver, for castle, nor for town;But I will be your leman for the heads of certain peers—And I ask but three—Rinaldo's—Roland's—and Olivier's."—
He kissed her hand where she did stand, he kissed her lips also,And "Bring forth," he cries, "my pennon, for to Paris I must go."—I wot ye saw them rearing his banner broad right soon,Whereon revealed his bloody field its pale and crescent moon.
That broad bannere the Moore did rear, ere many days were gone,In foul disdain of Charlemagne, by the church of good Saint John;In the midst of merry Paris, on the bonny banks of Seine,Shall never scornful Paynim that pennon rear again.
His banner he hath planted high, and loud his trumpet blown,That all the twelve might hear it well around King Charles's throne;The note he blew right well they knew; both Paladin and PeerHad the trumpet heard of that stern lord in many a fierce career.
It chanced the King, that fair morning, to the chace had made him bowne,With many a knight of warlike might, and prince of high renown;Sir Reynold of Montalban, and Claros' Lord, Gaston,Behind him rode, and Bertram good, that reverend old Baron.
Black D'Ardennes' eye of mastery in that proud troop was seen,And there was Urgel's giant force, and Guarinos' princely mien;Gallant and gay upon that day was Baldwin's youthful cheer,But first did ride, by Charles's side, Roland and Olivier.
Now in a ring around the King, not far in the greenwood,Awaiting all the huntsman's call, it chanced the nobles stood;"Now list, mine earls, now list!" quoth Charles, "yon breeze will come again,Some trumpet-note methinks doth float from the bonny banks of Seine."—
He scarce had heard the trumpet, the word he scarce had said,When among the trees he near him sees a dark and turbaned head;"Now stand, now stand at my command, bold Moor," quoth Charlemagne,"That turban green, how dare it be seen among the woods of Seine."—
"My turban green must needs be seen among the woods of Seine,"The Moor replied, "since here I ride in quest of Charlemagne—For I serve the Moor Calaynos, and I his defiance bringTo every lord that sits at the board of Charlemagne your King.
"Now lordlings fair, if anywhere in the wood ye've seen him riding,O tell me plain the path he has ta'en—there is no cause for chiding;For my lord hath blown his trumpet by every gate of Paris—Long hours in vain, by the bank of Seine, upon his steed he tarries."—
When the Emperor had heard the Moor, full red was his old cheek,"Go back, base cur, upon the spur, for I am he you seek—Go back, and tell your master to commend him to Mahoun,For his soul shall dwell with him in hell, or ere yon sun go down.
"Mine arm is weak, my hairs are grey," (thus spake King Charlemagne,)"Would for one hour I had the power of my young days again,As when I plucked the Saxon from out his mountain den—O soon should cease the vaunting of this proud Saracen!
"Though now mine arm be weakened, though now my hairs be grey,The hard-won praise of other days cannot be swept away—If shame there be, my liegemen, that shame on you must lie—Go forth, go forth, good Roland; to-night this Moor must die."—
Then out and spake rough Roland—"Ofttimes I've thinned the ranksOf the hot Moor, and when all was o'er have won me little thanks;Some carpet knight will take delight to do this doughty feat,Whom damsels gay shall well repay with their smiles and whispers sweet!"—
Then out and spake Sir Baldwin—the youngest peer was he,The youngest and the comeliest—"Let none go forth but me;Sir Roland is mine uncle, and he may in safety jeer,But I will show the youngest may be Sir Roland's peer."—
"Nay, go not thou," quoth Charlemagne, "thou art my gallant youth,And braver none I look upon; but thy cheek it is too smooth;And the curls upon thy forehead they are too glossy bright;—Some elder peer must couch his spear against this crafty knight."—
But away, away goes Baldwin, no words can stop him now,Behind him lies the greenwood, he hath gained the mountain's brow,He reineth first his charger, within the churchyard green,Where, striding slow the elms below, the haughty Moor is seen.
Then out and spake Calaynos—"Fair youth, I greet thee well;Thou art a comely stripling, and if thou with me wilt dwell,All for the grace of thy sweet face, thou shalt not lack thy fee,Within my lady's chamber a pretty page thou'lt be."—
An angry man was Baldwin, when thus he heard him speak,"Proud knight," quoth he, "I come with thee a bloody spear to break."—O, sternly smiled Calaynos, when thus he heard him say,—O loudly as he mounted his mailèd barb did neigh.
One shout, one thrust, and in the dust young Baldwin lies full low—No youthful knight could bear the might of that fierce warrior's blow;Calaynos draws his falchion, and waves it to and fro,"Thy name now say, and for mercy pray, or to hell thy soul must go."—
The helpless youth revealed the truth. Then said the conqueror—"I spare thee for thy tender years, and for thy great valour;But thou must rest thee captive here, and serve me on thy knee,For fain I'd tempt some doughtier peer to come and rescue thee."
Sir Roland heard that haughty word, (he stood behind the wall,)His heart, I trow, was heavy enow, when he saw his kinsman fall;But now his heart was burning, and never a word he said,But clasped his buckler on his arm, his helmet on his head.
Another sight saw the Moorish knight, when Roland blew his horn,To call him to the combat in anger and in scorn;All cased in steel from head to heel, in the stirrup high he stood,The long spear quivered in his hand, as if athirst for blood.
Then out and spake Calaynos—"Thy name I fain would hear;A coronet on thy helm is set; I guess thou art a Peer."—Sir Roland lifted up his horn, and blew another blast,"No words, base Moor," quoth Roland, "this hour shall be thy last."—
I wot they met full swiftly, I wot the shock was rude;Down fell the misbeliever, and o'er him Roland stood;Close to his throat the steel he brought, and plucked his beard full sore—"What devil brought thee hither?—speak out or die, false Moor!"—
"O! I serve a noble damsel, a haughty maid of Spain,And in evil day I took my way, that I her grace might gain;For every gift I offered, my lady did disdain,And craved the ears of certain Peers that ride with Charlemagne."—
Then loudly laughed rough Roland—"Full few will be her tears,It was not love her soul did move, when she bade thee beardthe peers."—With that he smote upon his throat, and spurned his crest in twain,"No more," he cries, "this moon will rise above the woods of Seine."
The story of Gayfer de Bourdeaux is to be found at great length in the Romantic Chronicle of Charlemagne; and it has supplied the Spanish minstrels with subjects for a long series of ballads.
In that which follows, Gayferos, yet a boy, is represented as hearing from his mother the circumstances of his father's death; and as narrowly escaping with his own life, in consequence of his stepfather's cruelty.
I.Before her knee the boy did stand, within the dais so fair,The golden shears were in her hand, to clip his curlèd hair;And ever as she clipped the curls, such doleful words she spake,That tears ran from Gayferos' eyes, for his sad mother's sake.II."God grant a beard were on thy face, and strength thine arm within,To fling a spear, or swing a mace, like Roland Paladin!For then, I think, thou wouldst avenge thy father that is dead,Whom envious traitors slaughtered within thy mother's bed.III."Their bridal-gifts were rich and rare, that hate might not be seen;They cut me garments broad and fair—none fairer hath the Queen."—Then out and spake the little boy—"Each night to God I call,And to his blessèd Mother, to make me strong and tall!"—IV.The Count he heard Gayferos, in the palace where he lay;—"Now silence, silence, Countess! it is falsehood that you say;I neither slew the man, nor hired another's sword to slay;—But, for that the mother hath desired, be sure the son shall pay!"V.The Count called to his esquires, (old followers were they,Whom the dead Lord had nurtured for many a merry day)—He bade them take their old Lord's heir, and stop his tender breath—Alas! 'twas piteous but to hear the manner of that death.VI."List, esquires, list, for my command is offspring of mine oath—The stirrup-foot and the hilt-hand see that ye sunder both;—That ye cut out his eyes 'twere best—the safer he will go—And bring a finger and the heart, that I his end may know."—VII.The esquires took the little boy aside with them to go;Yet, as they went, they did repent—"O God! must this be so?How shall we think to look for grace, if this poor child we slay,When ranged before Christ Jesu's face at the great judgment day?"—VIII.While they, not knowing what to do, were standing in such talk,The Countess' little lap-dog bitch by chance did cross their walk;Then out and spake one of the 'squires, (you may hear the words he said,)"I think the coming of this bitch may serve us in good stead—IX."Let us take out the bitch's heart, and give it to Galvan;The boy may with a finger part, and be no worser man."—With that they cut the joint away, and whispered in his ear,That he must wander many a day, nor once those parts come near.X."Your uncle grace and love will show; he is a bounteous man;"—And so they let Gayferos go, and turned them to Galvan.The heart and the small finger upon the board they laid,And of Gayferos' slaughter a cunning story made.XI.The Countess, when she hears them, in great grief loudly cries:Meantime the stripling safely unto his uncle hies:—"Now welcome, my fair boy," he said, "what good news may they beCome with thee to thine uncle's hall?"—"Sad tidings come with me—XII."The false Galvan had laid his plan to have me in my grave;But I've escaped him, and am here, my boon from thee to crave:Rise up, rise up, mine uncle, thy brother's blood they've shed;Rise up—they've slain my father within my mother's bed.2
Before her knee the boy did stand, within the dais so fair,The golden shears were in her hand, to clip his curlèd hair;And ever as she clipped the curls, such doleful words she spake,That tears ran from Gayferos' eyes, for his sad mother's sake.
"God grant a beard were on thy face, and strength thine arm within,To fling a spear, or swing a mace, like Roland Paladin!For then, I think, thou wouldst avenge thy father that is dead,Whom envious traitors slaughtered within thy mother's bed.
"Their bridal-gifts were rich and rare, that hate might not be seen;They cut me garments broad and fair—none fairer hath the Queen."—Then out and spake the little boy—"Each night to God I call,And to his blessèd Mother, to make me strong and tall!"—
The Count he heard Gayferos, in the palace where he lay;—"Now silence, silence, Countess! it is falsehood that you say;I neither slew the man, nor hired another's sword to slay;—But, for that the mother hath desired, be sure the son shall pay!"
The Count called to his esquires, (old followers were they,Whom the dead Lord had nurtured for many a merry day)—He bade them take their old Lord's heir, and stop his tender breath—Alas! 'twas piteous but to hear the manner of that death.
"List, esquires, list, for my command is offspring of mine oath—The stirrup-foot and the hilt-hand see that ye sunder both;—That ye cut out his eyes 'twere best—the safer he will go—And bring a finger and the heart, that I his end may know."—
The esquires took the little boy aside with them to go;Yet, as they went, they did repent—"O God! must this be so?How shall we think to look for grace, if this poor child we slay,When ranged before Christ Jesu's face at the great judgment day?"—
While they, not knowing what to do, were standing in such talk,The Countess' little lap-dog bitch by chance did cross their walk;Then out and spake one of the 'squires, (you may hear the words he said,)"I think the coming of this bitch may serve us in good stead—
"Let us take out the bitch's heart, and give it to Galvan;The boy may with a finger part, and be no worser man."—With that they cut the joint away, and whispered in his ear,That he must wander many a day, nor once those parts come near.
"Your uncle grace and love will show; he is a bounteous man;"—And so they let Gayferos go, and turned them to Galvan.The heart and the small finger upon the board they laid,And of Gayferos' slaughter a cunning story made.
The Countess, when she hears them, in great grief loudly cries:Meantime the stripling safely unto his uncle hies:—"Now welcome, my fair boy," he said, "what good news may they beCome with thee to thine uncle's hall?"—"Sad tidings come with me—
"The false Galvan had laid his plan to have me in my grave;But I've escaped him, and am here, my boon from thee to crave:Rise up, rise up, mine uncle, thy brother's blood they've shed;Rise up—they've slain my father within my mother's bed.2
The following is a version of another of the ballads concerning Gayferos. It is the same that is quoted in the chapter of the Puppet-show in Don Quixote.
"'Child, child,' said Don Quixote, 'go on directly with your story, and don't keep us here with your excursions and ramblings out of the road. I tell you there must be a formal process, and legal trial, to prove matters of fact.'— 'Boy,' said the master from behind the show, 'do as the gentleman bids you. Don't run so much upon flourishes, but follow your plain song, without venturing on counterpoints, for fear of spoiling all'—'I will, sir,' quoth the boy, and so proceeding: 'Now, sirs, he that you see there a-horseback, wrapt up in the Gascoign-cloak, is Don Gayferos himself, whom his wife, now revenged on the Moor for his impudence, seeing from the battlements of the tower, takes him for a stranger, and talks with him as such, according to the ballad,
'Quoth Melisendra, if perchance,Sir Traveller, you go for France,For pity's sake, ask when you're there,For Gayferos, my husband dear.'
'Quoth Melisendra, if perchance,Sir Traveller, you go for France,For pity's sake, ask when you're there,For Gayferos, my husband dear.'
"'I omit the rest, not to tire you with a long story. It is sufficient that he makes himself known to her, as you may guess by the joy she shows; and, accordingly, now see how she lets herself down from the balcony, to come at her loving husband, and get behind him; but, unhappily, alas! one of the skirts of her gown is caught upon one of the spikes of the balcony, and there she hangs and hovers in the air miserably, without being able to get down. But see how Heaven is merciful, and sends relief in the greatest distress! Now Don Gayferos rides up to her, and, not fearing to tear her rich gown, lays hold on it, and at one pull brings her down; and then at one lift sets her astride upon his horse's crupper, bidding her to sit fast, and clap her arms about him, that she might not fall; for the lady Melisendra was not used to that kind of riding.
"'Observe now, gallants, how the horse neighs, and shows how proud he is of the burden of his brave master and fair mistress. Look, now, how they turn their backs, and leave the city, and gallop it merrily away towards Paris. Peace be with you, for a peerless couple of true lovers! may ye get safe and sound into your own country, without any lett or ill chance in your journey, and live as long as Nestor, in peace and quietness among your friends and relations.'—'Plainness, boy!' cried Master Peter, 'none of your flights, I beseech you, for affectation is the devil.'—The boy answered nothing, but going on: 'Now, sirs,' quoth he, 'some of those idle people, that love to pry into everything, happened to spy Melisendra as she was making her escape, and ran presently and gave Marsilius notice of it; whereupon he straight commanded to sound an alarm; and now mind what a din and hurly-burly there is, and how the city shakes with the ring of the bells backwards in all the mosques!'—'There you are out, boy,' said Don Quixote; 'the Moors have no bells, they only use kettle-drums, and a kind of shaulms like our waits or hautboys; so that your ringing of bells in Sansueña is a mere absurdity, good Master Peter.'—'Nay, sir,' said Master Peter, giving over ringing, 'if you stand upon these trifles with us, we shall never please you. Don't be so severe a critic. Are there not a thousand plays that pass with great success and applause, though they have many greater absurdities, and nonsense in abundance? On, boy, on, let there be as many impertinences as motes in the sun; no matter, so I get the money.'—'Well said,' answered Don Quixote.—'And now, sirs,' quoth the boy, 'observe what a vast company of glittering horse comes pouring out of the city, in pursuit of the Christian lovers; what a dreadful sound of trumpets, and clarions, and drums, and kettle-drums there is in the air. I fear they will overtake them, and then will the poor wretches be dragged along most barbarously at the tails of their horses, which would be sad indeed.'
"Don Quixote, seeing such a number of Moors, and hearing such an alarm, thought it high time to assist the flying lovers; and starting up, 'It shall never be said while I live,' cried he aloud, 'that I suffered such a wrong to be done to so famous a knight and so daring a lover as Don Gayferos. Forbear, then, your unjust pursuit, ye base-born rascals! Stop, or prepare to meet my furious resentment!' Then drawing out his sword, to make good his threats, at one spring he gets to the show, and with a violent fury lays at the Moorish puppets, cutting and slashing in a most terrible manner: some he overthrows, and beheads others; maims this, and cleaves that in pieces. Among the rest of his merciless strokes, he thundered one down with such a mighty force, that had not Master Peter luckily ducked and squatted down, it had certainly chopped off his head as easily as one might cut an apple."