162 So Rollanz turns; through the field, all alone, Searching the vales and mountains, he is gone; He finds Gerin, Gerers his companion, Also he finds Berenger and Otton, There too he finds Anseis and Sanson, And finds Gerard the old, of Rossillon; By one and one he's taken those barons, To the Archbishop with each of them he comes, Before his knees arranges every one. That Archbishop, he cannot help but sob, He lifts his hand, gives benediction; After he's said: "Unlucky, Lords, your lot! But all your souls He'll lay, our Glorious God, In Paradise, His holy flowers upon! For my own death such anguish now I've got; I shall not see him, our rich Emperor." 163 So Rollant turns, goes through the field in quest; His companion Olivier finds at length; He has embraced him close against his breast, To the Archbishop returns as he can best; Upon a shield he's laid him, by the rest; And the Archbishop has them absolved and blest: Whereon his grief and pity grow afresh. Then says Rollanz: "Fair comrade Olivier, You were the son of the good count Reinier, Who held the march by th' Vale of Runier; To shatter spears, through buckled shields to bear, And from hauberks the mail to break and tear, Proof men to lead, and prudent counsel share, Gluttons in field to frighten and conquer, No land has known a better chevalier." 164 The count Rollanz, when dead he saw his peers, And Oliver, he held so very dear, Grew tender, and began to shed a tear; Out of his face the colour disappeared; No longer could he stand, for so much grief, Will he or nill, he swooned upon the field. Said the Archbishop: "Unlucky lord, indeed!" 165 When the Archbishop beheld him swoon, Rollant, Never before such bitter grief he'd had; Stretching his hand, he took that olifant. Through Rencesvals a little river ran; He would go there, fetch water for Rollant. Went step by step, to stumble soon began, So feeble he is, no further fare he can, For too much blood he's lost, and no strength has; Ere he has crossed an acre of the land, His heart grows faint, he falls down forwards and Death comes to him with very cruel pangs. 166 The count Rollanz wakes from his swoon once more, Climbs to his feet; his pains are very sore; Looks down the vale, looks to the hills above; On the green grass, beyond his companions, He sees him lie, that noble old baron; 'Tis the Archbishop, whom in His name wrought God; There he proclaims his sins, and looks above; Joins his two hands, to Heaven holds them forth, And Paradise prays God to him to accord. Dead is Turpin, the warrior of Charlon. In battles great and very rare sermons Against pagans ever a champion. God grant him now His Benediction! 167 The count Rollant sees the Archbishop lie dead, Sees the bowels out of his body shed, And sees the brains that surge from his forehead; Between his two arm-pits, upon his breast, Crossways he folds those hands so white and fair. Then mourns aloud, as was the custom there: "Thee, gentle sir, chevalier nobly bred, To the Glorious Celestial I commend; Neer shall man be, that will Him serve so well; Since the Apostles was never such prophet, To hold the laws and draw the hearts of men. Now may your soul no pain nor sorrow ken, Finding the gates of Paradise open!" 168 Then Rollanz feels that death to him draws near, For all his brain is issued from his ears; He prays to God that He will call the peers, Bids Gabriel, the angel, t' himself appear. Takes the olifant, that no reproach shall hear, And Durendal in the other hand he wields; Further than might a cross-bow's arrow speed Goes towards Spain into a fallow-field; Climbs on a cliff; where, under two fair trees, Four terraces, of marble wrought, he sees. There he falls down, and lies upon the green; He swoons again, for death is very near. 169 High are the peaks, the trees are very high. Four terraces of polished marble shine; On the green grass count Rollant swoons thereby. A Sarrazin him all the time espies, Who feigning death among the others hides; Blood hath his face and all his body dyed; He gets afoot, running towards him hies; Fair was he, strong and of a courage high; A mortal hate he's kindled in his pride. He's seized Rollant, and the arms, were at his side, "Charles nephew," he's said, "here conquered lies. To Araby I'll bear this sword as prize." As he drew it, something the count descried. 170 So Rollant felt his sword was taken forth, Opened his eyes, and this word to him spoke "Thou'rt never one of ours, full well I know." Took the olifant, that he would not let go, Struck him on th' helm, that jewelled was with gold, And broke its steel, his skull and all his bones, Out of his head both the two eyes he drove; Dead at his feet he has the pagan thrown: After he's said: "Culvert, thou wert too bold, Or right or wrong, of my sword seizing hold! They'll dub thee fool, to whom the tale is told. But my great one, my olifant I broke; Fallen from it the crystal and the gold." 171 Then Rollanz feels that he has lost his sight, Climbs to his feet, uses what strength he might; In all his face the colour is grown white. In front of him a great brown boulder lies; Whereon ten blows with grief and rage he strikes; The steel cries out, but does not break outright; And the count says: "Saint Mary, be my guide Good Durendal, unlucky is your plight! I've need of you no more; spent is my pride! We in the field have won so many fights, Combating through so many regions wide That Charles holds, whose beard is hoary white! Be you not his that turns from any in flight! A good vassal has held you this long time; Never shall France the Free behold his like." 172 Rollant hath struck the sardonyx terrace; The steel cries out, but broken is no ways. So when he sees he never can it break, Within himself begins he to complain: "Ah!; Durendal, white art thou, clear of stain! Beneath the sun reflecting back his rays! In Moriane was Charles, in the vale, When from heaven God by His angel bade Him give thee to a count and capitain; Girt thee on me that noble King and great. I won for him with thee Anjou, Bretaigne, And won for him with thee Peitou, the Maine, And Normandy the free for him I gained, Also with thee Provence and Equitaigne, And Lumbardie and all the whole Romaigne, I won Baivere, all Flanders in the plain, Also Burguigne and all the whole Puillane, Costentinnople, that homage to him pays; In Saisonie all is as he ordains; With thee I won him Scotland, Ireland, Wales, England also, where he his chamber makes; Won I with thee so many countries strange That Charles holds, whose beard is white with age! For this sword's sake sorrow upon me weighs, Rather I'ld die, than it mid pagans stay. Lord God Father, never let France be shamed!" 173 Rollant his stroke on a dark stone repeats, And more of it breaks off than I can speak. The sword cries out, yet breaks not in the least, Back from the blow into the air it leaps. Destroy it can he not; which when he sees, Within himself he makes a plaint most sweet. "Ah! Durendal, most holy, fair indeed! Relics enough thy golden hilt conceals: Saint Peter's Tooth, the Blood of Saint Basile, Some of the Hairs of my Lord, Saint Denise, Some of the Robe, was worn by Saint Mary. It is not right that pagans should thee seize, For Christian men your use shall ever be. Nor any man's that worketh cowardice! Many broad lands with you have I retrieved Which Charles holds, who hath the great white beard; Wherefore that King so proud and rich is he." 174 But Rollant felt that death had made a way Down from his head till on his heart it lay; Beneath a pine running in haste he came, On the green grass he lay there on his face; His olifant and sword beneath him placed, Turning his head towards the pagan race, Now this he did, in truth, that Charles might say (As he desired) and all the Franks his race; -- 'Ah, gentle count; conquering he was slain!' -- He owned his faults often and every way, And for his sins his glove to God upraised. 175 But Rollant feels he's no more time to seek; Looking to Spain, he lies on a sharp peak, And with one hand upon his breast he beats: "Mea Culpa!; God, by Thy Virtues clean Me from my sins, the mortal and the mean, Which from the hour that I was born have been Until this day, when life is ended here!" Holds out his glove towards God, as he speaks Angels descend from heaven on that scene. 176 The count Rollanz, beneath a pine he sits,; Turning his eyes towards Spain, he begins Remembering so many divers things: So many lands where he went conquering, And France the Douce, the heroes of his kin, And Charlemagne, his lord who nourished him. Nor can he help but weep and sigh at this. But his own self, he's not forgotten him, He owns his faults, and God's forgiveness bids: "Very Father, in Whom no falsehood is, Saint Lazaron from death Thou didst remit, And Daniel save from the lions' pit; My soul in me preserve from all perils And from the sins I did in life commit!" His right-hand glove, to God he offers it Saint Gabriel from's hand hath taken it. Over his arm his head bows down and slips, He joins his hands: and so is life finish'd. God sent him down His angel cherubin, And Saint Michael, we worship in peril; And by their side Saint Gabriel alit; So the count's soul they bare to Paradis. 177 Rollant is dead; his soul to heav'n God bare. That Emperour to Rencesvals doth fare. There was no path nor passage anywhere Nor of waste ground no ell nor foot to spare Without a Frank or pagan lying there. Charles cries aloud: "Where are you, nephew fair? Where's the Archbishop and that count Oliviers? Where is Gerins and his comrade Gerers? Otes the Duke, and the count Berengiers And Ivorie, and Ive, so dear they were? What is become of Gascon Engelier, Sansun the Duke and Anseis the fierce? Where's old Gerard of Russillun; oh, where The dozen peers I left behind me here?" But what avail, since none can answer bear? "God!" says the King, "Now well may I despair, I was not here the first assault to share!" Seeming enraged, his beard the King doth tear. Weep from their eyes barons and chevaliers, A thousand score, they swoon upon the earth; Duke Neimes for them was moved with pity rare. 178 No chevalier nor baron is there, who Pitifully weeps not for grief and dule; They mourn their sons, their brothers, their nephews, And their liege lords, and trusty friends and true; Upon the ground a many of them swoon. Thereon Duke Neimes doth act with wisdom proof, First before all he's said to the Emperour: "See beforehand, a league from us or two, From the highways dust rising in our view; Pagans are there, and many them, too. Canter therefore!; Vengeance upon them do!" "Ah, God!" says Charles, "so far are they re-moved! Do right by me, my honour still renew! They've torn from me the flower of France the Douce." The King commands Gebuin and Otun, Tedbalt of Reims, also the count Milun: "Guard me this field, these hills and valleys too, Let the dead lie, all as they are, unmoved, Let not approach lion, nor any brute, Let not approach esquire, nor any groom; For I forbid that any come thereto, Until God will that we return anew." These answer him sweetly, their love to prove: "Right Emperour, dear Sire, so will we do." A thousand knights they keep in retinue. 179 That Emperour bids trumpets sound again, Then canters forth with his great host so brave. Of Spanish men, whose backs are turned their way, Franks one and all continue in their chase. When the King sees the light at even fade, On the green grass dismounting as he may, He kneels aground, to God the Lord doth pray That the sun's course He will for him delay, Put off the night, and still prolong the day. An angel then, with him should reason make, Nimbly enough appeared to him and spake: "Charles, canter on!; Light needst not thou await. The flower of France, as God knows well, is slain; Thou canst be avenged upon that crimeful race." Upon that word mounts the Emperour again. 180 For Charlemagne a great marvel God planned: Making the sun still in his course to stand. So pagans fled, and chased them well the Franks Through the Valley of Shadows, close in hand; Towards Sarraguce by force they chased them back, And as they went with killing blows attacked: Barred their highways and every path they had. The River Sebre before them reared its bank, 'Twas very deep, marvellous current ran; No barge thereon nor dromond nor caland. A god of theirs invoked they, Tervagant. And then leaped in, but there no warrant had. The armed men more weighty were for that, Many of them down to the bottom sank, Downstream the rest floated as they might hap; So much water the luckiest of them drank, That all were drowned, with marvellous keen pangs. "An evil day," cry Franks, "ye saw Rollant!" 181 When Charles sees that pagans all are dead, Some of them slain, the greater part drowned; (Whereby great spoils his chevaliers collect) That gentle King upon his feet descends, Kneels on the ground, his thanks to God presents. When he once more rise, the sun is set. Says the Emperour "Time is to pitch our tents; To Rencesvals too late to go again. Our horses are worn out and foundered: Unsaddle them, take bridles from their heads, And through these meads let them refreshment get." Answer the Franks: "Sire, you have spoken well." 182 That Emperour hath chosen his bivouac; The Franks dismount in those deserted tracts, Their saddles take from off their horses' backs, Bridles of gold from off their heads unstrap, Let them go free; there is enough fresh grass -- No service can they render them, save that. Who is most tired sleeps on the ground stretched flat. Upon this night no sentinels keep watch. 183 That Emperour is lying in a mead; By's head, so brave, he's placed his mighty spear; On such a night unarmed he will not be. He's donned his white hauberk, with broidery, Has laced his helm, jewelled with golden beads, Girt on Joiuse, there never was its peer, Whereon each day thirty fresh hues appear. All of us know that lance, and well may speak Whereby Our Lord was wounded on the Tree: Charles, by God's grace, possessed its point of steel! His golden hilt he enshrined it underneath. By that honour and by that sanctity The name Joiuse was for that sword decreed. Barons of France may not forgetful be Whence comes the ensign "Monjoie," they cry at need; Wherefore no race against them can succeed. 184 Clear was the night, the moon shone radiant. Charles laid him down, but sorrow for Rollant And Oliver, most heavy on him he had, For's dozen peers, for all the Frankish band He had left dead in bloody Rencesvals; He could not help, but wept and waxed mad, And prayed to God to be their souls' Warrant. Weary that King, or grief he's very sad; He falls on sleep, he can no more withstand. Through all those meads they slumber then, the Franks; Is not a horse can any longer stand, Who would eat grass, he takes it lying flat. He has learned much, can understand their pangs. 185 Charles, like a man worn out with labour, slept. Saint Gabriel the Lord to him hath sent, Whom as a guard o'er the Emperour he set; Stood all night long that angel by his head. In a vision announced he to him then A battle, should be fought against him yet, Significance of griefs demonstrated. Charles looked up towards the sky, and there Thunders and winds and blowing gales beheld, And hurricanes and marvellous tempests; Lightnings and flames he saw in readiness, That speedily on all his people fell; Apple and ash, their spear-shafts all burned, Also their shields, e'en the golden bosses, Crumbled the shafts of their trenchant lances, Crushed their hauberks and all their steel helmets. His chevaliers he saw in great distress. Bears and leopards would feed upon them next; Adversaries, dragons, wyverns, serpents, Griffins were there, thirty thousand, no less, Nor was there one but on some Frank it set. And the Franks cried: "Ah!; Charlemagne, give help!" Wherefore the King much grief and pity felt, He'ld go to them but was in duress kept: Out of a wood came a great lion then, 'Twas very proud and fierce and terrible; His body dear sought out, and on him leapt, Each in his arms, wrestling, the other held; But he knew not which conquered, nor which fell. That Emperour woke not at all, but slept. 186 And, after that, another vision came: Himseemed in France, at Aix, on a terrace, And that he held a bruin by two chains; Out of Ardenne saw thirty bears that came, And each of them words, as a man might, spake Said to him: "Sire, give him to us again! It is not right that he with you remain, He's of our kin, and we must lend him aid." A harrier fair ran out of his palace, Among them all the greatest bear assailed On the green grass, beyond his friends some way. There saw the King marvellous give and take; But he knew not which fell, nor which o'ercame. The angel of God so much to him made plain. Charles slept on till the clear dawn of day. 187 King Marsilies, fleeing to Sarraguce, Dismounted there beneath an olive cool; His sword and sark and helm aside he put, On the green grass lay down in shame and gloom; For his right hand he'd lost, 'twas clean cut through; Such blood he'd shed, in anguish keen he swooned. Before his face his lady Bramimunde Bewailed and cried, with very bitter rue; Twenty thousand and more around him stood, All of them cursed Carlun and France the Douce. Then Apollin in's grotto they surround, And threaten him, and ugly words pronounce: "Such shame on us, vile god!, why bringest thou? This is our king; wherefore dost him confound? Who served thee oft, ill recompense hath found." Then they take off his sceptre and his crown, With their hands hang him from a column down, Among their feet trample him on the ground, With great cudgels they batter him and trounce. From Tervagant his carbuncle they impound, And Mahumet into a ditch fling out, Where swine and dogs defile him and devour. 188 Out of his swoon awakens Marsilies, And has him borne his vaulted roof beneath; Many colours were painted there to see, And Bramimunde laments for him, the queen, Tearing her hair; caitiff herself she clepes; Also these words cries very loud and clear: "Ah!; Sarraguce, henceforth forlorn thou'lt be Of the fair king that had thee in his keep! All those our gods have wrought great felony, Who in battle this morning failed at need. That admiral will shew his cowardice, Unless he fight against that race hardy, Who are so fierce, for life they take no heed. That Emperour, with his blossoming beard, Hath vassalage, and very high folly; Battle to fight, he will not ever flee. Great grief it is, no man may slay him clean." 189 That Emperour, by his great Majesty, I Full seven years in Spain now has he been, And castles there, and many cities seized. King Marsilies was therefore sore displeased; In the first year he sealed and sent his brief To Baligant, into Babilonie: ('Twas the admiral, old in antiquity, That clean outlived Omer and Virgilie,) To Sarraguce, with succour bade him speed, For, if he failed, Marsile his gods would leave, All his idols he worshipped formerly; He would receive blest Christianity And reconciled to Charlemagne would be. Long time that one came not, far off was he. Through forty realms he did his tribes rally; His great dromonds, he made them all ready, Barges and skiffs and ships and galleries; Neath Alexandre, a haven next the sea, In readiness he gat his whole navy. That was in May, first summer of the year, All of his hosts he launched upon the sea. 190 Great are the hosts of that opposed race; With speed they sail, they steer and navigate. High on their yards, at their mast-heads they place Lanterns enough, and carbuncles so great Thence, from above, such light they dissipate The sea's more clear at midnight than by day. And when they come into the land of Spain All that country lightens and shines again: Of their coming Marsile has heard the tale. 191 The pagan race would never rest, but come Out of the sea, where the sweet waters run; They leave Marbris, they leave behind Marbrus, Upstream by Sebre doth all their navy turn. Lanterns they have, and carbuncles enough, That all night long and very clearly burn. Upon that day they come to Sarragus. 192 Clear is that day, and the sun radiant. Out of his barge issues their admiral, Espaneliz goes forth at his right hand, Seventeen kings follow him in a band, Counts too, and dukes; I cannot tell of that. Where in a field, midway, a laurel stands, On the green grass they spread a white silk mat, Set a fald-stool there, made of olifant; Sits him thereon the pagan Baligant, And all the rest in rows about him stand. The lord of them speaks before any man: "Listen to me, free knights and valiant! Charles the King, the Emperour of the Franks, Shall not eat bread, save when that I command. Throughout all Spain great war with me he's had; I will go seek him now, into Douce France, I will not cease, while I'm a living man, Till be slain, or fall between my hands." Upon his knee his right-hand glove he slaps. 193 He is fast bound by all that he has said. He will not fail, for all the gold neath heav'n, But go to Aix, where Charles court is held: His men applaud, for so they counselled. After he called two of his chevaliers, One Clarifan, and the other Clarien: "You are the sons of king Maltraien, Freely was, wont my messages to bear. You I command to Sarraguce to fare. Marsiliun on my part you shall tell Against the Franks I'm come to give him help, Find I their host, great battle shall be there; Give him this glove, that's stitched with golden thread, On his right hand let it be worn and held; This little wand of fine gold take as well, Bid him come here, his homage to declare. To France I'll go, and war with Charles again; Save at my feet he kneel, and mercy beg, Save all the laws of Christians he forget, I'll take away the crown from off his head." Answer pagans: "Sire, you say very well." 194 Said Baligant: "But canter now, barons, Take one the wand, and the other one the glove!" These answer him: "Dear lord, it shall be done." Canter so far, to Sarraguce they come, Pass through ten gates, across four bridges run, Through all the streets, wherein the burghers crowd. When they draw nigh the citadel above, From the palace they hear a mighty sound; About that place are seen pagans enough, Who weep and cry, with grief are waxen wood, And curse their gods, Tervagan and Mahum And Apolin, from whom no help is come. Says each to each: "Caitiffs!; What shall be done? For upon us confusion vile is come, Now have we lost our king Marsiliun, For yesterday his hand count Rollanz cut; We'll have no more Fair Jursaleu, his son; The whole of Spain henceforward is undone." Both messengers on the terrace dismount. 195 Horses they leave under an olive tree, Which by the reins two Sarrazins do lead; Those messengers have wrapped them in their weeds, To the palace they climb the topmost steep. When they're come in, the vaulted roof beneath, Marsilium with courtesy they greet: "May Mahumet, who all of us doth keep, And Tervagan, and our lord Apoline Preserve the, king and guard from harm the queen!" Says Bramimunde "Great foolishness I hear: Those gods of ours in cowardice are steeped; In Rencesvals they wrought an evil deed, Our chevaliers they let be slain in heaps; My lord they failed in battle, in his need, Never again will he his right hand see; For that rich count, Rollanz, hath made him bleed. All our whole Spain shall be for Charles to keep. Miserable!; What shall become of me? Alas!; That I've no man to slay me clean!" 196 Says Clarien: "My lady, say not that! We're messengers from pagan Baligant; To Marsilies, he says, he'll be warrant, So sends him here his glove, also this wand. Vessels we have, are moored by Sebres bank, Barges and skiffs and gallies four thousand, Dromonds are there -- I cannot speak of that. Our admiral is wealthy and puissant. And Charlemagne he will go seek through France And quittance give him, dead or recreant." Says Bramimunde: "Unlucky journey, that! Far nearer here you'll light upon the Franks; For seven years he's stayed now in this land. That Emperour is bold and combatant, Rather he'ld die than from the field draw back; No king neath heav'n above a child he ranks. Charles hath no fear for any living man. 197 Says Marsilies the king: "Now let that be." To th'messengers: "Sirs, pray you, speak to me. I am held fast by death, as ye may see. No son have I nor daughter to succeed; That one I had, they slew him yester-eve. Bid you my lord, he come to see me here. Rights over Spain that admiral hath he, My claim to him, if he will take't, I yield; But from the Franks he then must set her free. Gainst Charlemagne I'll shew him strategy. Within a month from now he'll conquered be. Of Sarraguce ye'll carry him the keys, He'll go not hence, say, if he trusts in me." They answer him: "Sir, 'tis the truth you speak." 198 Then says Marsile: "The Emperour, Charles the Great Hath slain my men and all my land laid waste, My cities are broken and violate; He lay this night upon the river Sebre; I've counted well, 'tis seven leagues away. Bid the admiral, leading his host this way, Do battle here; this word to him convey." Gives them the keys of Sarraguce her gates; Both messengers their leave of him do take, Upon that word bow down, and turn away. 199 Both messengers did on their horses mount; From that city nimbly they issued out. Then, sore afraid, their admiral they sought, To whom the keys of Sarraguce they brought. Says Baligant: "Speak now; what have ye found? Where's Marsilies, to come to me was bound?" Says Clarien : "To death he's stricken down. That Emperour was in the pass but now; To France the Douce he would be homeward-bound, Rereward he set, to save his great honour: His nephew there installed, Rollanz the count, And Oliver; the dozen peers around; A thousand score of Franks in armour found. Marsile the king fought with them there, so proud; He and Rollanz upon that field did joust. With Durendal he dealt him such a clout From his body he cut the right hand down. His son is dead, in whom his heart was bound, And the barons that service to him vowed; Fleeing he came, he could no more hold out. That Emperour has chased him well enow. The king implores, you'll hasten with succour, Yields to you Spain, his kingdom and his crown." And Baligant begins to think, and frowns; Such grief he has, doth nearly him confound. 200 "Sir admiral," said to him Clariens, "In Rencesvals was yesterday battle. Dead is Rollanz and that count Oliver, The dozen peers whom Charle so cherished, And of their Franks are twenty thousand dead. King Marsilie's of his right hand bereft, And the Emperour chased him enow from thence. Throughout this land no chevalier is left, But he be slain, or drowned in Sebres bed. By river side the Franks have pitched their tents, Into this land so near to us they've crept; But, if you will, grief shall go with them hence." And Baligant looked on him proudly then, In his courage grew joyous and content; From the fald-stool upon his feet he leapt, Then cried aloud:; "Barons, too long ye've slept; Forth from your ships issue, mount, canter well! If he flee not, that Charlemagne the eld, King Marsilies shall somehow be avenged; For his right hand I'll pay him back an head." 201 Pagan Arabs out of their ships issue, Then mount upon their horses and their mules, And canter forth, (nay, what more might they do?) Their admiral, by whom they all were ruled, Called up to him Gemalfin, whom he knew: "I give command of all my hosts to you." On a brown horse mounted, as he was used, And in his train he took with him four dukes. Cantered so far, he came to Sarraguce. Dismounted on a floor of marble blue, Where four counts were, who by his stirrup stood; Up by the steps, the palace came into; To meet him there came running Bramimunde, Who said to him: "Accursed from the womb, That in such shame my sovran lord I lose! Fell at his feet, that admiral her took. In grief they came up into Marsile's room. 202 King Marsilies, when he sees Baligant, Calls to him then two Spanish Sarazands: "Take me by the arms, and so lift up my back." One of his gloves he takes in his left hand; Then says Marsile: "Sire, king and admiral, Quittance I give you here of all my land, With Sarraguce, and the honour thereto hangs. Myself I've lost; my army, every man." He answers him: "Therefore the more I'm sad. No long discourse together may we have; Full well I know, Charles waits not our attack, I take the glove from you, in spite of that." He turned away in tears, such grief he had. Down by the steps, out of the palace ran, Mounted his horse, to's people gallopped back. Cantered so far, he came before his band; From hour to hour then, as he went, he sang: "Pagans, come on: already flee the Franks!" 203 In morning time, when the dawn breaks at last, Awakened is that Emperour Charles. Saint Gabriel, who on God's part him guards, Raises his hand, the Sign upon him marks. Rises the King, his arms aside he's cast, The others then, through all the host, disarm. After they mount, by virtue canter fast Through those long ways, and through those roads so large; They go to see the marvellous damage In Rencesvals, there where the battle was. 204 In Rencesvals is Charles entered, Begins to weep for those he finds there dead; Says to the Franks:; "My lords, restrain your steps, Since I myself alone should go ahead, For my nephew, whom I would find again. At Aix I was, upon the feast Noel, Vaunted them there my valiant chevaliers, Of battles great and very hot contests; With reason thus I heard Rollant speak then: He would not die in any foreign realm Ere he'd surpassed his peers and all his men. To the foes' land he would have turned his head, Conqueringly his gallant life he'ld end." Further than one a little wand could send, Before the rest he's on a peak mounted. 205 When the Emperour went seeking his nephew, He found the grass, and every flower that bloomed, Turned scarlat, with our barons' blood imbrued; Pity he felt, he could but weep for rue. Beneath two trees he climbed the hill and looked, And Rollant's strokes on three terraces knew, On the green grass saw lying his nephew; `Tis nothing strange that Charles anger grew. Dismounted then, and went -- his heart was full, In his two hands the count's body he took; With anguish keen he fell on him and swooned. 206 That Emperour is from his swoon revived. Naimes the Duke, and the count Aceline, Gefrei d'Anjou and his brother Tierry, Take up the King, bear him beneath a pine. There on the ground he sees his nephew lie. Most sweetly then begins he to repine: "Rollant, my friend, may God to thee be kind! Never beheld any man such a knight So to engage and so to end a fight. Now my honour is turned into decline!" Charle swoons again, he cannot stand upright. 207 Charles the King returned out of his swoon. Him in their hands four of his barons took, He looked to the earth, saw lying his nephew; All colourless his lusty body grew, He turned his eyes, were very shadowful. Charles complained in amity and truth: "Rollant, my friend, God lay thee mid the blooms Of Paradise, among the glorious! Thou cam'st to Spain in evil tide, seigneur! Day shall not dawn, for thee I've no dolour. How perishes my strength and my valour! None shall I have now to sustain my honour; I think I've not one friend neath heaven's roof, Kinsmen I have, but none of them's so proof." He tore his locks, till both his hands were full. Five score thousand Franks had such great dolour There was not one but sorely wept for rue. 208 "Rollant, my friend, to France I will away; When at Loum, I'm in my hall again, Strange men will come from many far domains, Who'll ask me, where's that count, the Capitain; I'll say to them that he is dead in Spain. In bitter grief henceforward shall I reign, Day shall not dawn, I weep not nor complain. 209 "Rollant, my friend, fair youth that bar'st the bell, When I arrive at Aix, in my Chapelle, Men coming there will ask what news I tell; I'll say to them: `Marvellous news and fell. My nephew's dead, who won for me such realms!' Against me then the Saxon will rebel, Hungar, Bulgar, and many hostile men, Romain, Puillain, all those are in Palerne, And in Affrike, and those in Califerne; Afresh then will my pain and suffrance swell. For who will lead my armies with such strength, When he is slain, that all our days us led? Ah!; France the Douce, now art thou deserted! Such grief I have that I would fain be dead." All his white beard he hath begun to rend, Tore with both hands the hair out of his head. Five score thousand Franks swooned on the earth and fell. 210 "Rollant, my friend, God shew thee His mercy! In Paradise repose the soul of thee! Who hath thee slain, exile for France decreed. I'ld live no more, so bitter is my grief For my household, who have been slain for me. God grant me this, the Son of Saint Mary, Ere I am come to th' master-pass of Size, From my body my soul at length go free! Among their souls let mine in glory be, And let my flesh upon their flesh be heaped." Still his white beard he tears, and his eyes weep. Duke Naimes says: "His wrath is great indeed." 211 "Sire, Emperour," Gefrei d'Anjou implored, "Let not your grief to such excess be wrought; Bid that our men through all this field be sought, Whom those of Spain have in the battle caught; In a charnel command that they be borne." Answered the King: "Sound then upon your horn." 212 Gefreid d'Anjou upon his trumpet sounds; As Charles bade them, all the Franks dismount. All of their friends, whose bodies they have found To a charnel speedily the bring down. Bishops there are, and abbots there enow, Canons and monks, vicars with shaven crowns; Absolution in God's name they've pronounced; Incense and myrrh with precious gums they've ground, And lustily they've swung the censers round; With honour great they've laid them in the ground. They've left them there; what else might they do now? 213 That Emperour sets Rollant on one side And Oliver, and the Archbishop Turpine; Their bodies bids open before his eyes. And all their hearts in silken veils to wind, And set them in coffers of marble white; After, they take the bodies of those knights, Each of the three is wrapped in a deer's hide; They're washen well in allspice and in wine. The King commands Tedbalt and Gebuin, Marquis Otun, Milun the count besides: Along the road in three wagons to drive. They're covered well with carpets Galazine. 214 Now to be off would that Emperour Charles, When pagans, lo! comes surging the vanguard; Two messengers come from their ranks forward, From the admiral bring challenge to combat: "'Tis not yet time, proud King, that thou de-part. Lo, Baligant comes cantering afterward, Great are the hosts he leads from Arab parts; This day we'll see if thou hast vassalage." Charles the King his snowy beard has clasped, Remembering his sorrow and damage, Haughtily then his people all regards, In a loud voice he cries with all his heart: "Barons and Franks, to horse, I say, to arms!" 215 First before all was armed that Emperour, Nimbly enough his iron sark indued, Laced up his helm, girt on his sword Joiuse, Outshone the sun that dazzling light it threw, Hung from his neck a shield, was of Girunde, And took his spear, was fashioned at Blandune. On his good horse then mounted, Tencendur, Which he had won at th'ford below Marsune When he flung dead Malpalin of Nerbune, Let go the reins, spurred him with either foot; Five score thousand behind him as he flew, Calling on God and the Apostle of Roum. 216 Through all the field dismount the Frankish men, Five-score thousand and more, they arm themselves; The gear they have enhances much their strength, Their horses swift, their arms are fashioned well; Mounted they are, and fight with great science. Find they that host, battle they'll render them. Their gonfalons flutter above their helms. When Charles sees the fair aspect of them, He calls to him Jozeran of Provence, Naimon the Duke, with Antelme of Maience: "In such vassals should man have confidence, Whom not to trust were surely want of sense; Unless the Arabs of coming here repent, Then Rollant's life, I think, we'll dearly sell." Answers Duke Neimes: "God grant us his consent!" 217 Charles hath called Rabel and Guineman; Thus said the King: "My lords, you I command To take their place, Olivier and Rollant, One bear the sword and the other the olifant; So canter forth ahead, before the van, And in your train take fifteen thousand Franks, Young bachelors, that are most valiant. As many more shall after them advance, Whom Gebuins shall lead, also Lorains." Naimes the Duke and the count Jozerans Go to adjust these columns in their ranks. Find they that host, they'll make a grand attack. 218 Of Franks the first columns made ready there, After those two a third they next prepare; In it are set the vassals of Baiviere, Some thousand score high-prized chevaliers; Never was lost the battle, where they were: Charles for no race neath heaven hath more care, Save those of France, who realms for him conquered. The Danish chief, the warrior count Oger, Shall lead that troop, for haughty is their air. 219 Three columns now, he has, the Emperour Charles. Naimes the Duke a fourth next sets apart Of good barons, endowed with vassalage; Germans they are, come from the German March, A thousand score, as all said afterward; They're well equipped with horses and with arms, Rather they'll die than from the battle pass; They shall be led by Hermans, Duke of Trace, Who'll die before he's any way coward. 220 Naimes the Duke and the count Jozerans The fifth column have mustered, of Normans, A thousand score, or so say all the Franks; Well armed are they, their horses charge and prance; Rather they'ld die, than eer be recreant; No race neath heav'n can more in th'field compass. Richard the old, lead them in th'field he shall, He'll strike hard there with his good trenchant lance. 221 The sixth column is mustered of Bretons; Thirty thousand chevaliers therein come; These canter in the manner of barons, Upright their spears, their ensigns fastened on. The overlord of them is named Oedon, Who doth command the county Nevelon, Tedbald of Reims and the marquis Oton: "Lead ye my men, by my commission." 222 That Emperour hath now six columns yare Naimes the Duke the seventh next prepares Of Peitevins and barons from Alverne; Forty thousand chevaliers might be there; Their horses good, their arms are all most fair. They're neath a cliff, in a vale by themselves; With his right hand King Charles hath them blessed, Them Jozerans shall lead, also Godselmes. 223 And the eighth column hath Naimes made ready; ; Tis of Flamengs, and barons out of Frise; Forty thousand and more good knights are these, Nor lost by them has any battle been. And the King says: "These shall do my service." Between Rembalt and Hamon of Galice Shall they be led, for all their chivalry. 224 Between Naimon and Jozeran the count Are prudent men for the ninth column found, Of Lotherengs and those out of Borgoune; Fifty thousand good knights they are, by count; In helmets laced and sarks of iron brown, Strong are their spears, short are the shafts cut down; If the Arrabits demur not, but come out And trust themselves to these, they'll strike them down. Tierris the Duke shall lead them, of Argoune. 225 The tenth column is of barons of France, Five score thousand of our best capitans; Lusty of limb, and proud of countenance, Snowy their heads are, and their beards are blanched, In doubled sarks, and in hauberks they're clad, Girt on their sides Frankish and Spanish brands And noble shields of divers cognisance. Soon as they mount, the battle they demand, "Monjoie" they cry.; With them goes Charlemagne. Gefreid d'Anjou carries that oriflamme; Saint Peter's; twas, and bare the name Roman, But on that day Monjoie, by change, it gat. 226 That Emperour down from his horse descends; To the green grass, kneeling, his face he bends. Then turns his eyes towards the Orient, Calls upon God with heartiest intent: "Very Father, this day do me defend, Who to Jonas succour didst truly send Out of the whale's belly, where he was pent; And who didst spare the king of Niniven, And Daniel from marvellous torment When he was caged within the lions' den; And three children, all in a fire ardent: Thy gracious Love to me be here present. In Thy Mercy, if it please Thee, consent That my nephew Rollant I may avenge. When he had prayed, upon his feet he stepped, With the strong mark of virtue signed his head; Upon his swift charger the King mounted While Jozerans and Neimes his stirrup held; He took his shield, his trenchant spear he kept; Fine limbs he had, both gallant and well set; Clear was his face and filled with good intent. Vigorously he cantered onward thence. In front, in rear, they sounded their trumpets, Above them all boomed the olifant again. Then all the Franks for pity of Rollant wept. 227 That Emperour canters in noble array, Over his sark all of his beard displays; For love of him, all others do the same, Five score thousand Franks are thereby made plain. They pass those peaks, those rocks and those mountains, Those terrible narrows, and those deep vales, Then issue from the passes and the wastes Till they are come into the March of Spain; A halt they've made, in th'middle of a plain. To Baligant his vanguard comes again A Sulian hath told him his message: "We have seen Charles, that haughty sovereign; Fierce are his men, they have no mind to fail. Arm yourself then: Battle you'll have to-day." Says Baligant: "Mine is great vassalage; Let horns this news to my pagans proclaim." 228 Through all the host they have their drums sounded, And their bugles, and, very clear trumpets. Pagans dismount, that they may arm themselves. Their admiral will stay no longer then; Puts on a sark, embroidered in the hems, Laces his helm, that is with gold begemmed; After, his sword on his left side he's set, Out of his pride a name for it he's spelt Like to Carlun's, as he has heard it said, So Preciuse he bad his own be clept; Twas their ensign when they to battle went, His chevaliers'; he gave that cry to them. His own broad shield he hangs upon his neck, (Round its gold boss a band of crystal went, The strap of it was a good silken web;) He grasps his spear, the which he calls Maltet; -- So great its shaft as is a stout cudgel, Beneath its steel alone, a mule had bent; On his charger is Baligant mounted, Marcules, from over seas, his stirrup held. That warrior, with a great stride he stepped, Small were his thighs, his ribs of wide extent, Great was his breast, and finely fashioned, With shoulders broad and very clear aspect; Proud was his face, his hair was ringleted, White as a flow'r in summer was his head. His vassalage had often been proved. God! what a knight, were he a Christian yet! His horse he's spurred, the clear blood issued; He's gallopped on, over a ditch he's leapt, Full fifty feet a man might mark its breadth. Pagans cry out: "Our Marches shall be held; There is no Frank, may once with him contest, Will he or nill, his life he'll soon have spent. Charles is mad, that he departs not hence." 229 That admiral to a baron's like enough, White is his beard as flowers by summer burnt; In his own laws, of wisdom hath he much; And in battle he's proud and arduous. His son Malprimes is very chivalrous, He's great and strong; -- his ancestors were thus. Says to his sire: "To canter then let us! I marvel much that soon we'll see Carlun." Says Baligant: " Yea, for he's very pruff; In many tales honour to him is done; He hath no more Rollant, his sister's son, He'll have no strength to stay in fight with us." 230 "Fair son Malprimes," then says t'him Baligant, "Was slain yestreen the good vassal Rollanz, And Oliver, the proof and valiant, The dozen peers, whom Charles so cherished, and Twenty thousand more Frankish combatants. For all the rest I'ld not unglove my hand. But the Emperour is verily come back, -- So tells me now my man, that Sulian -- Ten great columns he's set them in their ranks; He's a proof man who sounds that olifant, With a clear call he rallies his comrades; These at the head come cantering in advance, Also with them are fifteen thousand Franks, Young bachelors, whom Charles calls Infants; As many again come following that band, Who will lay on with utmost arrogance." Then says Malprimes: "The first blow I demand." . 231 "Fair son Malprimes," says Baligant to him, "I grant it you, as you have asked me this; Against the Franks go now, and smite them quick. And take with you Torleu, the Persian king And Dapamort, another king Leutish. Their arrogance if you can humble it, Of my domains a slice to you I'll give From Cheriant unto the Vale Marquis." "I thank you, Sire!"; Malprimes answers him; Going before, he takes delivery; 'Tis of that land, was held by king Flurit. After that hour he never looked on it, Investiture gat never, nor seizin. 232 That admiral canters among his hosts; ;After, his son with's great body follows, Torleus the king, and the king Dapamort; Thirty columns most speedily they form. They've chevaliers in marvellous great force; Fifty thousand the smallest column holds. ;The first is raised of men from Butenrot, The next, after, Micenes, whose heads are gross; Along their backs, above their spinal bones, As they were hogs, great bristles on them grow. The third is raised from Nubles and from Blos; The fourth is raised from Bruns and Esclavoz; The fifth is raised from Sorbres and from Sorz; The sixth is raised from Ermines and from Mors; The seventh is the men of Jericho; Negroes are the eighth; the ninth are men of Gros; The tenth is raised from Balide the stronghold, That is a tribe no goodwill ever shews. That admiral hath sworn, the way he knows, By Mahumet, his virtues and his bones: "Charles of France is mad to canter so; Battle he'll have, unless he take him home; No more he'll wear on's head that crown of gold." 233 Ten great columns they marshal thereafter; Of Canelious, right ugly, is the first, Who from Val-Fuit came across country there; The next's of Turks; of Persians is the third; The fourth is raised of desperate Pinceners, The fifth is raised from Soltras and Avers; The sixth is from Ormaleus and Eugez; The seventh is the tribe of Samuel; The eighth is from Bruise; the ninth from Esclavers; The tenth is from Occiant, the desert, That is a tribe, do not the Lord God serve, Of such felons you never else have heard; Hard is their hide, as though it iron were, Wherefore of helm or hauberk they've no care; In the battle they're felon murderers.

CLXII Rollant s'en turnet, par le camp vait tut suls, Cercet les vals e si cercet les munz: Iloec truvat Gerin e Gerer sun cumpaignun. E si truvat Berenger e Attun; Iloec truvat Anseïs e Sansun, Truvat Gerard le veill de Russillun. Par uns e uns les ad pris le barun, A l'arcevesque en est venuz a tut, Sis mist en reng dedevant ses genuilz. Li arcevesque ne poet muer n'en plurt, Lievet sa main, fait sa b[en]eïçun, Apres ad dit: «Mare fustes, seignurs! Tutes voz anmes ait Deus li Glorius! En pareïs les metet en se[i]ntes flurs! La meie mort me rent si anguissus: Ja ne verrai le riche empereuür!» CLXIII Rollant s'en turnet, le camp vait recercer, Sun cumpaignun ad truvet, Oliver: Encuntre sun piz estreit l'ad enbracet; Si cum il poet a l'arcevesques en vent, Sur un escut l'ad as altres culchet, E l'arcevesque (les) [l']ad asols e seignet. Idunc agreget le doel e la pitet. Ço dit Rollant: «Bels cumpainz Oliver, Vos fustes fils al duc Reiner Ki tint la marche del val de Runers. Pur hanste freindre e pur escuz peceier, Pur orgoillos veincre e esmaier, E pur prozdomes tenir e cunseiller, E pur glutun veincre e esmaier, En nule tere n'ad meillor chevaler!» CLXIV Li quens Rollant, quant il veit mort ses pers, E Oliver, qu'il tant poeit amer, Tendrur en out, cumencet a plurer. En sun visage fut mult desculurez. Si grant doel out que mais ne pout ester; Voeillet o nun, a tere chet pasmet. Dist l'arcevesque: «Tant mare fustes ber!» CLXV Li arcevesques quant vit pasmer Rollant, Dunc out tel doel unkes mais n'out si grant. Tendit sa main, si ad pris l'olifan: En Rencesvals ad un ewe curant; Aler i volt, sin durrat a Rollant. Sun petit pas s'en turnet cancelant. Il est si fieble qu'il ne poet en avant; N'en ad vertut, trop ad perdut del sanc. Einz que om alast un sul arpent de camp, Falt li le coer, si est chaeit avant. La sue mort l'i vait mult angoissant. CLXVI Li quens Rollant revient de pasmeisuns: Sur piez se drecet, mais il ad grant dulur. Guardet aval e si guardet amunt: Sur l'erbe verte, ultre ses cumpaignuns, La veit gesir le nobilie barun, Ço est l'arcevesque, que Deus mist en sun num. Cleimet sa culpe, si reguardet amunt, Cuntre le ciel amsdous ses mains ad juinz, Si priet Deu que pareïs li duinst. [Morz est Turpin, le guerreier Charlun.] Par granz batailles e par mult bels sermons, Cuntre paiens fut tuz tens campiuns. Deus li otreit (la sue) seinte beneïçun! CLXVII Li quens Rollant veit l'ar[ce]vesque a tere: Defors sun cors veit gesir la buele; Desuz le frunt li buillit la cervele. Desur sun piz, entre les dous furceles, Cruisiedes ad ses blanches [mains], les beles. Forment le pleignet a la lei de sa tere: «E! gentilz hom, chevaler de bon aire, Hoi te cumant al Glorius celeste! Jamais n'ert hume plus volenters le serve. Des les apostles ne fut hom tel prophete Pur lei tenir e pur humes atraire. Ja la vostre anme nen ait sufraite! De pareïs li seit la porte uverte!» CLXVIII Ço sent Rollant que la mort li est pres Par les oreilles fors se ist la cervel. De ses pers priet Deu ques apelt, E pois de lui a l'angle Gabriel. Prist l'olifan, que reproce n'en ait, E Durendal s'espee en l'altre main. D'un arcbaleste ne poet traire un quarrel, Devers Espaigne en vait en un guaret; Muntet sur un tertre; desuz un arbre bel(e) Quatre perruns i ad, de marbre fait(e). Sur l'erbe verte si est caeit envers: La s'est pasmet, kar la mort li est pres. CLXIX Halt sunt li pui e mult halt les arbres. Quatre perruns i ad luisant de marbre. Sur l'erbe verte li quens Rollant se pasmet. Uns Sarrazins tute veie l'esguardet: Si se feinst mort, si gist entre les altres; Del sanc luat sun cors e sun visage. Met sei en piez e de curre s'astet. Bels fut e forz e de grant vasselage; Par sun orgoill cumencet mortel rage; Rollant saisit e sun cors e ses armes, E dist un mot: «Vencut est li nies Carles! Iceste espee porterai en Arabe.» En cel tirer(es) li quens s'aperçut alques. CLXX Ço sent Rollant que s'espee li tolt. Uvrit les oilz, si li ad dit un mot: «Men escientre, tu n'ies mie des noz!» Tient l'olifan, que unkes perdre ne volt,; Sil fiert en l'elme, ki gemmet fut a or: Fruisset l'acer e la teste e les ós, Amsdous les oilz del chef li ad mis fors; Jus a ses piez si l'ad tresturnet mort. Apres li dit: «Culvert paien, cum fus unkes si ós Que me saisis, ne a dreit ne a tort? Ne l'orrat hume, ne t'en tienget por fol. Fenduz en est mis olifans el gros, Caiuz en est li cristals e li ors.» CLXXI Ço sent Rollant la veúe ad perdue; Met sei sur piez, quanqu'il poet, s'esvertuet; En sun visage sa culur ad perdue. Dedevant lui ad une perre byse: .X. colps i fiert par doel e par rancune. Cruist li acers, ne freint, [ne] n'esgruignet.; «E!» dist li quens, «sainte Marie, aiue! E! Durendal, bone, si mare fustes! Quant jo mei perd, de vos n'en ai mais cure. Tantes batailles en camp en ai vencues. E tantes teres larges escumbatues, Que Carles tient, ki la barbe ad canue! Ne vos ait hume ki pur altre fuiet! Mult bon vassal vos ad lung tens tenue: Jamais n'ert tel en France l'asolue.» CLXXII Rollant ferit el perrun de sardónie. Cruist li acers, ne briset ne n'esgrunie. Quant il ço vit que n'en pout mie freindre, A sei meïsme la cumencet a pleindre: «E! Durendal, cum es bele, e clere, e blanche! Cuntre soleill si luises e reflambes! Carles esteit es vals de Moriane, Quant Deus del cel li mandat par sun a[n]gle, Qu'il te dunast a un cunte cataignie: Dunc la me ceinst li gentilz reis, li magnes. Jo l'en cunquis Namon e Bretaigne, Si l'en cunquis e Peitou e le Maine; Jo l'en cunquis Normendie la franche, Si l'en cunquis Provence e Equitaigne E Lumbardie e trestute (r)Romaine; Jo l'en cunquis Baiver e tute Flandres, E Burguigne e trestute Puillanie, Costentinnoble, dunt il out la fiance, E en Saisonie fait il ço, qu'il demandet; Jo l'en cunquis e Escoce e Vales Islonde, E Engletere, que il teneit sa cambre; Cunquis l'en ai païs e teres tantes, Que Carles tient, ki ad la barbe blanche. Pur ceste espee ai dulor e pesance: Mielz voeill murir qu'entre paiens remaigne. Deus! Perre, n'en laise(i)t hunir France!» CLXXIII Rollant ferit en une perre bise, Plus en abat que jo ne vos sai dire. L'espee cruist, ne fruisset, ne ne brise, Cuntre ciel amunt est resortie. Quant veit li quens que ne la freindrat mie, Mult dulcement la pleinst a sei meïsme: «E! Durendal, cum es bele e seintisme! En l'oriet punt asez i ad reliques: La dent seint Perre e del sanc seint Basilie, E des chevels mun seignor seint Denise, Del vestement i ad seinte Marie. Il nen est dreiz que paiens te baillisent; De chrestiens devrez estre servie. Ne vos ait hume ki facet cuardie! Mult larges teres de vus avrai cunquises, Que Carles les tent, ki la barbe ad flurie. E li empereres en est ber e riches.» CLXXIV Ço sent Rollant que la mort le tresprent, Devers la teste sur le quer li descent. Desuz un pin i est alet curant, Sur l'erbe verte s'i est culcet adenz, Desuz lui met s'espee e l'olifan (en sumet); Turnat sa teste vers la paiene gent; Pur ço l'at fait que il voelt veirement Que Carles diet e trestute sa gent, Li gentilz quens, qu'il fut mort cunquerant. Cleimet sa culpe e menut e suvent; Pur ses pecchez Deu (recleimet) en puroffrid lo guant. CLXXV Ço sent Rollant de sun tens n'i ad plus. Devers Espaigne est en un pui agut; A l'une main si ad sun piz batud: «Deus, meie culpe vers les tues vertuz De mes pecchez, des granz e des menuz Que jo ai fait des l'ure que nez fui Tresqu'a cest jur que ci sui consoüt!» Sun destre guant en ad vers Deu tendut: Angles del ciel i descendent a lui. CLXXVI Li quens Rollant se jut desuz un pin; Envers Espaigne en ad turnet sun vis. De plusurs choses a remembrer li prist: De tantes teres cum li bers conquist, De dulce France, des humes de sun lign, De Carlemagne, sun seignor, kil nurrit. Ne poet muer n'en plurt e ne suspirt. Mais lui meïsme ne volt mettre en ubli, Cleimet sa culpe, si priet Deu mercit: «Veire Patene, ki unkes ne mentis, Seint Lazaron de mort resurrexis, E Daniel des leons guaresis, Guaris de mei l'anme de tuz perilz Pur les pecchez que en ma vie fis!» Sun destre guant a Deu en puroffrit; Seint Gabriel de sa main l'ad pris. Desur sun braz teneit le chef enclin; Juntes ses mains est alet a sa fin. Deus tramist sun angle Cherubin, E seint Michel del Peril; Ensembl'od els sent Gabriel i vint. L'anme del cunte portent en pareïs. CLXXVII Morz est Rollant, Deus en ad l'anme es cels. Li emperere en Rence[s]val[s] parvient. Il nen i ad ne veie ne senter, Ne voide tere, ne alne (illi) [ne] plein pied, Que il n'i ait o Franceis ó paien. Carles escriet: «U estes vos, bels nies? U est l'arcevesque e li quens Oliver? U est Gerins e sis cumpainz Gerers? U est Otes e li quens Berengers Ive e Ivorie, que jo aveie tant chers? Que est devenuz li Guascuinz Engeler? Sansun li dux e Anseïs li bers? U est Gerard de Russillun li veilz? Li .XII. per, que jo aveie laiset?» De ço qui chelt, quant nul n'en respundiet? - «Deus!» dist li reis, «tant me pois esmaer Que jo ne fui a l'estur cumencer!» Tiret sa barbe cum hom ki est iret; Plurent des oilz si baron chevaler; Encuntre tere se pasment .XX. millers. Naimes li dux en ad mult grant pitet. CLXXVIII Il n'en i ad chevaler ne barun Que de pitet mult durement ne plurt; Plurent lur filz, lur freres, lur nevolz, E lur amis e lur lige seignurs; Encuntre tere se pasment [...] li plusur. Naimes li dux d'iço ad fait que proz, Tuz premereins l'ad dit l empereür: «Veez avant de dous liwes de nus, Ve[d]e[i]r puez les granz chemins puldrus, (Que) Qu'ase(n)z i ad de la gent paienur. Car chevalchez! Vengez ceste dulor!» - «E! Deus!» dist Carles, «ja sunt il ja si luinz! Cunse[i]l[l]ez mei e dreit[ure] e honur; De France dulce m'unt tolud la flur.» Li reis cumandet Gebuin e Otun, Tedbalt de Reins e le cunte Milun: «Guardez le champ e les vals e les munz. Lessez gesir les morz tut issi cun il sunt, Que n'i adeist ne beste ne lion, Ne n'i adeist esquier ne garçun; Jo vus defend que n'i adeist nuls hom, Josque Deus voeil[l]e que en cest camp revengum.» E cil respundent dulcement, par amur: «Dreiz emperere, cher sire, si ferum!» Mil chevaler i retienent des lur. CLXXIX Li empereres fait ses graisles suner, Puis si chevalchet od sa grant ost li ber. De cels d'Espaigne unt lur les dos turnez, Tenent l'enchalz, tuit en sunt cumunel. Quant veit li reis le vespres decliner, Sur l'erbe verte descent li reis en un pred, Culchet sei a tere, si priet Damnedeu Que li soleilz facet pur lui arester, La nuit targer e le jur demurer. Ais li un angle ki od lui soelt parler, Isnelement si li ad comandet: «Charle, chevalche, car tei ne faudrad clartet! La flur de France as perdut, ço set Deus. Venger te poez de la gent criminel.» A icel mot est l'emperere muntet. CLXXX Pur Karlemagne fist Deus vertuz mult granz, Car li soleilz est remes en estant. Paien s'en fuient, ben les chalcent Franc. El Val Tenebrus la les vunt ateignant, Vers Sarraguce les enchalcent [...] franc, A colps pleners les en vunt ociant, Tolent lur veies e les chemins plus granz. L'ewe de Sebre, el lur est dedevant: Mult est parfunde, merveill[us]e e curant; Il n'en i ad barge, ne drodmund ne caland. Paiens recleiment un lur deu, Tervagant, Puis saillent enz, mais il n'i unt guarant. Li adubez en sunt li plus pesant, Env(er)ers les funz s'en turnerent alquanz; Li altre en vunt cuntreval flotant. Li miez guariz en unt boüd itant, Tuz sunt neiez par merveillus ahan. Franceis escrient: «Mare fustes, Rollant!» CLXXXI Quant Carles veit que tuit sunt mort paiens, Alquanz ocis e li plusur neiet, Mult grant eschec en unt si chevaler, Li gentilz reis descendut est a piet, Culchet sei a tere, sin ad Deu graciet. Quant il se drecet, li soleilz est culchet. Dist l'emperere: «Tens est del herberger; En Rencesvals est tart del repairer: Nos chevals sunt e las e ennuiez. Tolez lur les seles, le freins qu'il unt es chefs, E par cez prez les laisez refreider.» Respundent Franc: «Sire, vos dites bien.» CLXXXII Li emperere ad prise sa herberge. Franceis descendent en la tere deserte, A lur chevals unt toleites les seles, Les freins a or e metent jus des testes, Livrent lur prez, asez i ad fresche herbe; D'altre cunreid ne lur poeent plus faire. Ki mult est las, il se dort cuntre tere. Icele noit n'unt unkes escalguaite. CLXXXIII Li emperere s'est culcet en un pret: Sun grant espiet met a sun chef li ber; Icele noit ne se volt il desarmer, Si ad vestut sun blanc osberc sasfret, Laciet sun elme, ki est a or gemmet, Ceinte Joiuse, unches ne fut sa per, Ki cascun jur muet .XXX. clartez. Asez savum de la lance parler Dunt Nostre Sire fut en la cruiz nasfret: Carles en ad la mure, mercit Deu; en l'oret punt l'ad faite manuvrer. Pur ceste honur e pur ceste bontet, Li nums Joiuse l'espee fut dunet. Baruns franceis nel deivent ublier: Enseigne en unt de «Munjoie!» crier; Pur ço nes poet nule gent cuntrester. CLXXXIV Clere est la noit e la lune luisante. Carles se gist, mais doel ad de Rollant E d'Oliver li peiset mult forment, Des .XII. pers e de la franceise gent. [Qu']en Rencesvals ad laiset morz sang[l]enz. Ne poet muer n'en plurt e nes dement E priet Deu qu'as anmes seit guarent. Las est li reis, kar la peine est mult grant; Endormiz est, ne pout mais en avant. Par tuz les prez or se dorment li Franc. N'i ad cheval ki puisset ester en estant; Ki herbe voelt, il la prent en gisant. Mult ad apris ki bien conuist ahan. CLXXXV Karles se dort cum hume traveillet. Seint Gabriel li ad Deus enveiet: L'empereür li cumandet a guarder. Li angles est tute noit a sun chef. Par avisiun li ad anunciet D'une bataille ki encuntre lui ert: Senefiance l'en demustrat mult gref. Carles guardat amunt envers le ciel, Veit les tuneires e les venz e les giels, E les orez, les merveillus tempez, E fous e flambes i est apareillez: Isnelement sur tute sa gent chet. Ardent cez hanstes de fraisne e de pumer E cez escuz jesqu'as bucles d'or mier, Fruisent cez hanstes de cez trenchanz espiez, Cruissent osbercs e cez helmes d'acer. En grant dulor i veit ses chevalers. Urs e leuparz les voelent puis manger, Serpenz e guivres, dragun e averser; Grifuns i ad, plus de trente millers: N'en i ad cel a Franceis ne s'agiet. E Franceis crient: «Carlemagne, aidez!» Li reis en ad e dulur e pitet; Aler i volt, mais il ad desturber. Devers un gualt uns granz leons li vint, Mult par ert pesmes e orguillus e fiers; Sun cors meïsmes i asalt e requert, E prenent sei a braz ambesdous por loiter; Mais ço ne set liquels abat ne quels chiet. Li emperere n'est mie esveillet. CLXXXVI Apres icel li vien[t] un altre avisiun, Qu'il ert en France, ad Ais, a un perrun, En dous chaeines si teneit un brohun. Devers Ardene veeit venir .XXX. urs, Cascun parolet altresi cume hum. Diseient li: «Sire rendez le nus! Il nen est dreiz que il seit mais od vos; Nostre parent devum estre a sucurs.» De sun paleis uns veltres acurt; Entre les altres asaillit le greignur Sur l'erbe verte ultre ses cumpaignuns. La vit li reis si merveillus estur; Mais ço ne set liquels veint ne quels nun. Li angles Deu ço ad mustret al barun. Carles se dort tresqu'al demain, al cler jur. CLXXXVII Li reis Marsilie s'en fuit en Sarraguce. Suz un olive est descendut en l'umbre, S'espee rent e sun elme e sa bronie; Sur la verte herbe mult laidement se culcet; La destre main ad perdue trestute; Del sanc qu'en ist se pasmet e angoiset. Dedevant lui sa muiller, Bramimunde, Pluret e criet, mult forment se doluset; Ensembl'od li plus de .XX. mil humes, Si maldient Carlun e France dulce. Ad Apolin (en) curent en une crute, Tencent a lui, laidement le despersunent: «E! malvais deus, por quei nus fais tel hunte? Cest nostre rei por quei lessas cunfundre? Ki mult te sert, malvais luer l'en dunes!» Puis si li tolent se sceptre e sa curune. Par les mains le pendent sur une culumbe, Entre lur piez a tere le tresturnent, A granz bastuns le batent e defruisent. E Tervagan tolent sun escarbuncle, E Mahumet enz en un fosset butent, E porc e chen le mordent e defulent. CLXXXVIII De pa(i)smeisuns en est venuz Marsilies: Fait sei porter en sa cambre voltice; Plusurs culurs i ad peinz e escrites. E Bramimunde le pluret, la reïne, Trait ses chevels, si se cleimet caitive, A l'altre mot mult haltement s'escriet: «E! Sarraguce, cum ies oi desguarnie Del gentil rei ki t'aveit en baillie! Li nostre deu i unt fait felonie, Ki en bataille oi matin le faillirent. Li amiralz i ferat cuardie S'il ne cumbat a cele gent hardie, Ki si sunt fiers n'unt cure de lur vies. Li emperere od la barbe flurie, Vasselage ad e mult grant estultie; S'il ad bataill(i)e, il ne s'en fuirat mie. Mult est grant doel que n'en est ki l'ociet!» CLXXXIX Li emperere par sa grant poestet, .VII. anz tuz plens ad en Espaigne estet; Prent i chastels e alquantes citez. Li reis Marsilie s'en purcacet asez: Al premer an fist ses brefs seieler, En Babilonie Baligant ad mandet, Ço est l'amiraill, le viel d'antiquitet, Tut survesquiet e Virgilie e Omer, En Sarraguce alt sucurre li ber; E, s'il nel fait, il guerpirat ses deus E tuz ses ydeles que il soelt adorer, Si recevrat sainte chrestientet, A Charlemagne se vuldrat acorder. E cil est loinz, si ad mult demuret; Mandet sa gent de .XL. regnez, Ses granz drodmunz en ad fait aprester, Eschiez e barges e galies e nefs. Suz Alixandre ad un port juste mer: Tut sun navilie i ad fait aprester. Ço est en mai, al premer jur d'ested: Tutes ses oz ad empeintes en mer. CXC Granz sunt les oz de cele gent averse: Siglent a fort e nagent e guvernent. En sum cez maz e en cez (les) [h]altes vernes, Asez i ad carbuncles e lanternes; La sus amunt pargetent tel luiserne Par la noit la mer en est plus bele. E cum il vienent en Espaigne la tere, Tut li païs en reluist e esclairet. Jesqu'a Marsilie en parvunt les noveles. CXCI Gent paienor ne voelent cesser unkes: Issent de mer, venent as ewes dulces, Laisent Marbrose e si laisent Marbrise, Par Sebre amunt tut lur naviries turnent. Asez i ad lanternes e carbuncles: Tute la noit mult grant clartet lur dunent. A icel jur venent a Sarraguce. CXCII Clers est li jurz et li soleilz luisant. Li amiralz est issut del calan: Espaneliz fors le vait adestrant, .XVII. reis apres le vunt siwant; Cuntes e dux i ad ben ne sai quanz. Suz un lorer, ki est en mi un camp, Sur l'erbe verte getent un palie blanc: U[n] faldestoed i unt mis d'olifan. Desur s'asiet li paien Baligant; Tuit li altre sunt remes en estant. Li sire d'els premer parlat avant: «Oiez ore, franc chevaler vaillant! Carles li reis, l'emperere des Francs, Ne deit manger, se jo ne li cumant. Par tute Espaigne m'at fait guere mult grant: En France dulce le voeil aler querant. Ne finerai en trestut mun vivant Josqu'il seit mort u tut vif recreant.» Sur sun genoill en fiert sun destre guant. CXCIII Puis qu'il l'ad dit, mult s'en est afichet Que ne lairat pur tut l'or desuz ciel, Que il ainz ad Ais, o Carles soelt plaider. Si hume li lo[d]ent, si li unt cunseillet. Puis apelat dous de ses chevalers, L'un Clarifan e l'altre Clarïen: «Vos estes filz al rei Maltraïen, Ki messages soleit faire volenters. Jo vos cumant qu'en Sarraguce algez; Marsiliun de meie part li nunciez, Cuntre Franceis li sui venut aider. Se jo truis ó, mult grant bataille i ert; Si l'en dunez cest guant ad or pleiet, El destre poign si li faites chalcer. Si li portez cest [bast]uncel d'or mer, E a mei venget pur reconoistre sun feu. En France irai pur Carles guerreier; S'en ma mercit ne se culzt a mes piez E ne guerpisset la lei de chrestiens, Jo li toldrai la co(r)rune del chef.» Paien respundent «Sire, mult dites bien.» CXCIV Dist Baligant: «Car chevalchez, barun! L'un port le guant, li alt]r]e le bastun!» E cil respundent «Cher sire, si ferum.» Tant chevalcherent que en Sarraguce sunt. Passent .X. portes, traversent .IIII. punz, Tutes les rues u li burgeis estunt. Cum il aproisment en la citet amunt, Vers le paleis oïrent grant fremur; Asez i ad de cele gent paienur, Plurent e crient, demeinent grant dolor, Pleignent lur deus Tervagan e Mahum E Apollin, dunt il mie n'en unt. Dist cascun a l'altre: «Caitifs, que devendrum? Sur nus est venue male confusiun. Perdut avum le rei Marsiliun: Li quens Rollant li trenchat ier le destre poign. Nus n'avum mie de Jurfaleu le Blunt. Trestute Espaigne iert hoi en lur bandun.» Li dui message descendent al perrun. CXCV Lur chevals laisent dedesuz un olive: Dui Sarrazin par les resnes les pristrent. E li message par les mantels se tindrent, Puis sunt muntez sus el paleis altisme. Cum il entrent en la cambre voltice, Par bel amur malvais saluz li firent: «Cil Mahumet ki nus ad en baillie, E Tervagan e Apollin, nostre sire, Sálvent le rei e guardent la reïne!» Dist Bramimunde: «Or oi mult grant folie! Cist nostre deu sunt en recreantise. En Rencesval m[al]vaises vertuz firent: Noz chevalers i unt lesset ocire; Cest mien seignur en bataille faillirent; Le destre poign ad perdut, n'en ad mie, Si li trenchat li quens Rollant, li riches. Trestute Espaigne avrat Carles en baillie. Que devendrai, duluruse, caitive? E! lasse, que n'en ai un hume ki m'ociet!» CXCVI Dist Clarien «Dame, ne parlez mie itant! Messages sumes al paien Baligant. Marsiliun, ço dit, serat guarant, Si l'en enveiet sun bastun e sun guant. En Sebre avum .IIII. milie calant, Eschiez e barges e galees curant; Drodmunz i ad ne vos sai dire quanz. Li amiralz est riches e puisant: En France irat Carlemagne querant; Rendre le quidet u mort ó recreant.» Dist Bramimunde «Mar en irat itant! Plus pres d'ici purrez truver les Francs. En ceste tere ad estet ja .VII. anz. Li emperere est ber e cumbatant: Meilz voel murir que ja fuiet de camp; Suz ciel n'ad rei qu'il prist a un enfant. Carles ne creint nuls hom ki seit vivant.» CXCVII - «Laissez ço ester!« dist Marsilies li reis. Dist as messages: «Seignurs, parlez a mei! Ja veez vos que a mort sui destreit, Jo si nen ai filz ne fille ne heir: Un en aveie, cil fut ocis her seir. Mun seignur dites qu'il me vienge veeir. Li amiraill ad en Espaigne dreit: Quite li cleim, se il la voelt aveir, Puis la defendet encuntre li Franceis! Vers Carlemagne li durrai bon conseill: Cunquis l'avrat d'oi cest jur en un meis. De Sarraguce les clefs li portereiz; Pui li dites, il n'en irat, s'il me creit.»; Cil respundent: «Sire, vus dites veir.» CXCVIII Ço dist Marsilie: «Carles l'emperere Mort m'ad mes homes, ma tere deguastee, E mes citez fraites e violees. Il jut anuit sur cel ewe de Sebre: Jo ai cunte n'i ad mais que .VII. liwes. L'amirail dites que sun host i amein. Par vos li mand bataille i seit justee.» De Sarraguce les clefs li ad livrees. Li messager ambedui l'enclinerent, Prenent cu(i)[n]get, a cel mot s'en turnerent. CXCIX Li dui message es chevals sunt muntet. Isnelement issent de la citet, A l'amiraill en vunt esfreedement; De Sarra[gu]ce li presentent les cles. Dist Baligant: «Que avez vos truvet? U est Marsilie, que jo aveie mandet?« Dist Clarïen: «Il est a mort nasfret. Li emperere fut ier as porz passer, Si s'en vuolt en dulce France aler. Par grant honur se fist rereguarder: Li quens Rollant i fut remes, sis nies, E Oliver e tuit li .XII. per, De cels de France .XX. milie adubez. Li reis Marsilie s'i cumbatit, li bers. Il e Rollant el camp furent remes: De Durendal li dunat un colp tel Le destre poign li ad del cors sevret; Sun filz ad mort, qu'il tant suleit amer, E li baron qu'il i out amenet. Fuiant s'en vint, qu'il n'i pout mes ester. Li emperere l'ad enchalcet asez. Li reis mandet que vos le sucurez. Quite vus cleimet d'Espaigne le regnet.» E Baligant cumencet a penser; Si grant doel ad por poi qu'il n'est desvet. CC «Sire amiralz,» dist Clarïens, «En Rencesvals une bataille out íer. Morz est Rollant e li quens Oliver, Li .XII. per, que Carles aveit tant cher; De lur Franceis i ad mort .XX. millers. Li reis Marsilie le destre poign i perdit, E l'emperere asez l'ad enchalcet, En ceste tere n'est remes chevaler Ne seit ocis o en Sebre neiet. Desur la rive sunt Frances herbergiez: En cest païs nus sunt tant aproeciez, Se vos volez, li repaires ert grefs.» E Baligant le reguart en ad fiers, En sun curage en est joüs e liet. Del faldestod se redrecet en piez, Puis escriet: «Baruns, ne vos targez! Eissez des nefs, muntez, si cevalciez! S'or ne s'en fuit Karlemagne li veilz, Li reis Marsilie enqui serat venget: Pur sun poign destre l'en liverai le che(s)[f].» CCI Paien d'Arabe des nefs se sunt eissut, Puis sunt muntez es chevals e es muls; Si chevalcherent, que fereient il plus? Li amiralz, ki trestuz les esmut, Sin apelet Gemalfin, un sun drut: «Jo te cumant de tutes mes oz l'aunde.» Puis en un sun destrer brun est munte; Ensembl'od lui emmeinet .IIII. dux. Tant chevalchat qu'en Sarraguce fut. A un perron de marbre est descenduz, E quatre cuntes l'estreu li unt tenut. Par les degrez el paleis muntet sus, E Bramidonie vient curant cuntre lui; Si li ad dit: «Dolente, si mare fui! A itel hunte, sire, mon seignor ai perdut!» Chet li as piez, li amiralz la reçut; Sus en la chambre ad doel en sunt venut. CCII Li reis Marsilie, cum il veit Baligant, Dunc apelat dui Sarrazin espans: «Pernez m'as braz, sim(e) drecez en seant.» Al puign senestre ad pris un de ses guanz. Ço dist Marsilie: «Sire reis, amiralz, Teres tutes ici [...] rengnes vos rendemas E Sarraguce e l'onur qu'i apent. Mei ai perdut e tute ma gent.» E cil respunt: «Tant sy jo plus dolent. Ne pois a vos tenir lung parlement: Jo sai asez que Carles ne m'atent, E nepurquant de vos receif le guant.» Al doel qu'il ad s'en est turnet plurant. Par les degrez jus del paleis descent, Muntet el ceval, vient a sa gent puignant. Tant chevalchat, qu'il est premers devant, De uns ad altres si se vait escriant: «Venez paien, car ja s'en fuient Frant!» CCIII Al matin, quant primes pert li albe, Esveillez est li e[m]perere Carles. Sein Gabriel, ki de part Deu le guarde, Levet sa main, sur lui fait sun signacle. Li reis descent, si ad rendut ses armes, Si se desarment par tute l'ost li altre. Puis sunt muntet, par grant vertut chevalchent Cez veiez lunges e cez chemins mult larges, Si vunt ve[d]eir le merveillus damage En Rencesvals, la ó fut la bataille. CCIV En Rencesvals en est Carles venuz. Des morz qu'il troevet cumencet a plurer. Dist a Franceis: «Segnu[r]s, le pas tenez; Kar mei meïsme estoet avant aler Pur mun nev[ol]d que vuldreie truver. A Eis esteie, a une féste anoel: Si se vant(t)[er]ent mi vaillant chevaler De granz batailles, de forz esturs pleners. D'une raisun oï Rollant parler: Ja ne (ne) murreit en estrange regnet Ne trespassast ses hume[s] e ses pers; Vers lur païs avreit sun chef turnet; Cunquerrantment si finereit li bers.» Plus qu'en ne poet un bastuncel jeter, Devant les altres est en un pui muntet. CCV Quant l'empereres vait querre sun nevold, De tantes herbes el pre truvat les flors, Ki sunt vermeilz del sanc de noz barons! Pitet en ad, ne poet muer n'en plurt. Desuz dous arbres parvenuz est [...] li reis. Les colps Rollant conut en treis per(r)uns, Sur l'erbe verte veit gesir sun nevuld; Nen est merveille se Karles ad irur. Descent a pied, aled i est pleins curs, Entre ses mains ansdous prent le priest suus; Sur lui se pasmet, tant par est anguissus. CCVI Li empereres de pasmeisuns revint. Naimes li dux e li quens Acelin, Gefrei d'Anjou e sun frere Henri Prenent le rei, sil drecent suz un pin. Guardet a la tere, veit sun nevold gesir. Tant dulcement a regreter le prist: «Amis Rollant, de tei ait Deus mercit! Unques nuls hom tel chevaler ne vit Por granz batailles juster e defenir. La meie honor est turnet en declin.» Carles se pasmet, ne s'en pout astenir. CCVII Carles li reis se vint de pasmeisuns; Par mains le tienent .III. de ses barons. Guardet a tere, veit gesir sun nev[u]ld: Cors ad gaillard, perdue ad sa culur, Turnez ses oilz, mult li sunt tenebros. Carles le pleint par feid e par amur: «Ami Rollant, Deus metet t'anme en flors, En pareïs, entre les glorius! Cum en Espaigne venis [a] mal seignur! Jamais n'ert jurn que de tei n'aie dulur. Cum decarrat ma force e ma baldur! N'en avrai ja ki sustienget m'onur; Suz ciel ne quid aveir ami un sul! Se jo ai parenz, n'en i ad nul si proz.» Trait ses crignels, pleines ses mains amsdous, Cent milie Franc en unt si grant dulur N'en i ad cel ki durement ne plurt. CCVIII «Ami Rollant, jo m'en irai en France. Cum jo serai a Loün, en ma chambre, De plusurs regnes vendrunt li hume estrange; Demanderunt: «U est quens cataignes?» Jo lur dirrai qu'il est morz en Espaigne. A grant dulur tendrai puis mun reialme: Jamais n'ert jur que ne plur ne n'en pleigne.» CCIX - «Ami Rollant, prozdoem, juvente bele, Cum jo serai a Eis, em ma chapele, Vendrunt li hume, demanderunt noveles; Jes lur dirrai, merveilluses e pesmes: «Morz est mis nies, ki tant me fist cunquere.» Encuntre mei revelerunt li Seisne, E Hungre e Bugre e tante gent averse, Romain, Puillain e tuit icil de Palerne E cil d'Affrike e cil de Califerne; Puis entrerunt mes peines e mes suffraites. Ki guierat mes oz a tel poeste, Quant cil est [morz] ki tuz jurz nos cadelet? E! France, cum remeines deserte! Si grant doel ai que jo ne vuldreie estre!» Sa barbe blanche cumencet a detraire, Ad ambes mains les chevels de sa teste. Cent milie Francs s'en pasment cuntre tere. CCX «Ami Rollant, de tei ait Deus mercit! L'anme de tei seit mise en pareïs! Ki tei ad mort France ad mis en exill. Si grant dol ai que ne voldreie vivre, De ma maisnee, ki por mei est ocise! Ço duinset Deus, le filz sainte Marie, Einz que jo vienge as maistres porz de Sirie, L'anme del cors me seit oi departie, Entre les lur aluee e mise, E ma car fust delez els enfuïe!» Ploret des oilz, sa blanche bar[b]e tiret. E dist dux Naimes: «Or ad Carles grant ire.» CCXI «Sire emperere,» ço dist Gefrei d'Anjou, «Ceste dolor ne demenez tant fort! Par tut le camp faites querre les noz, Que cil d'Espaigne en la bataille unt mort; En un carne(l)[r] cumandez que hom les port.» Ço dist li reis: «Sunez en vostre corn!» CCXII Gefreid d'Anjou ad sun greisle sunet. Franceis descendent, Carles l'ad comandet. Tuz lur amis qu'il i unt morz truvet, Ad un carne(l)[r] sempres les unt portet. Asez i ad evesques e abez, Munies, canonies, proveires coronez: Si sunt asols e seignez de part Deu. Mirre e timoine i firent alumer, Gaillardement tuz les unt encensez; A grant honor pois les unt enterrez. Sis unt laisez: qu'en fereient il el? CCXIII Li emperere fait Rollant costeïr E Oliver e (e) l'arcevesque Turpin, Devant sei les ad fait tuz uvrir E tuz les quers en paile recuillir: Un blanc sarcou de marbre sunt enz mis; E puis les cors des barons si unt pris, En quirs de cerf les seignurs unt mis: Ben sunt lavez de piment e de vin. Li reis cumandet Tedbalt e Gebuin, Milun le cunte e Otes le marchis: «En .III. carettes les guiez [...] tres ben.» Bien sunt cuverz d'un palie galazin. CCXIV Venir s'en volt li emperere Carles, Quant de paiens li surdent les enguardes. De cels devant i vindrent dui messages, De l'amirail li nuncent la bataille: «Reis orguillos, nen est fins que t'en alges! Veiz Baligant, ki apres tei chevalchet: Granz sunt les oz qu'il ameinet d'Arabe. Encoi verrum se tu as vasselage.« Carles li reis en ad prise sa barbe; Si li remembret del doel e [del] damage, Mult fierement tute sa gent reguardez; Puis si s'escriet a sa voiz grand e halte: «Barons franceis, as chevals e as armes!» CCXV Li empereres tuz premereins s'adubet: Isnelement ad vestue sa brunie, Lacet sun helme, si ad ceinte Joiuse, Ki pur soleill sa clartet n'en muet; Pent a sun col un escut de Biterne, Tient sun espiet, sin fait brandir la hanste, En Tencendur, sun bon cheval, puis muntet: Il le cunquist es guez desuz Marsune, Sin getat mort Malpalin de Nerbone; Laschet la resne, mult suvent l'esperonet, Fait sun eslais, veant cent mil humes, Recleimet Deu e l'apostle de Rome. CCXVI Par tut le champ cil de France descendent, Plus de cent milie s'en adubent ensemble; Guarnemenz unt ki ben lor atalente[n]t, Cevals curanz e lur armes mult gentes; Puis sunt muntez e unt grant science. S'il troevent oí, bataille quident rendre. Cil gunfanun sur les helmes lur pendent. Quant Carles veit si beles cuntenances, Sin apelat Jozeran de Provence, Naimon li duc, Antelme de Maience: «En tels vassals deit hom aveir fiance! Asez est fols ki entr'els se dem[ent]et. Si Arrabiz de venir ne se repentent, La mort Rollant lur quid cherement rendre.» Respunt dux Neimes: «E Deus le nos cunsente!» CCXVII Carles apelet Rabe[l] e Guinemán. Ço dist li reis: «Seignurs, jo vos cumant, Seiez es lius Oliver e Rollant: L'un port l'espee e l'altre l'olifant, Si chevalcez el premer chef devant, Ensembl'od vos .XV. milie de Franc(ei)s, De bachelers, de noz (...) meillors vaillanz. Apres icels en avrat altretant, Sis guierat Gibuins e Guinemans.» Naimes li dux e li quens Jozerans Icez eschieles ben les vunt ajustant. S'il troevent oí, bataille i ert mult grant. CCXVIII De Franceis sunt les premeres escheles. Apres les dous establisent la terce; En cele sunt li vassal de Baivere, A .XX. [milie] chevalers la preiserent; Ja devers els bataille n'ert lessee. Suz cel n'ad gent que Carles ait plus chere, Fors cels de France, ki les regnes cunquerent. Li quens Oger li Daneis, li puinneres, Les guierat, kar la cumpaigne est fiere. CCXIX Treis escheles ad l'emperere Carles. Naimes li dux puis establist la quarte De tels barons qu'asez unt vasselage: Alemans sunt e si sunt d'Alemaigne; Vint milie sunt, ço dient tuit li altre. Ben sunt guarniz e de chevals e d'armes; Ja por murir ne guerpirunt bataille. Sis guierat Hermans li dux de Trace. Einz i murat que cuardise i facet. CCXX Naimes li dux e li quens Jozerans La quinte eschele unt faite de Normans: .XX. milie sunt, ço dient tuit li Franc. Armes unt beles e bons cevals curanz; Ja pur murir cil n'erent recreanz. Suz ciel n'ad gent ki plus poissent en camp. Richard li velz les guierat el camp: Cil i ferrat de sun espiet trenchant. CCXXI La siste eschele unt faite de Bretuns: .XXX. milie chevalers od els unt. Icil chevalchent en guise de baron, Peintes lur hanstes, fermez lur gunfanun. Le seignur d'els est apelet Oedun: Icil cumandet le cunte Nevelun, Tedbald de Reins e le marchis Otun: «Guiez ma gent, jo vos en faz le dun!» CCXXII Li emperere ad .VI. escheles faites. Naimes li dux puis establist la sedme De Peitevins e des barons d'Alverne: .XL. milie chevalers poeent estre. Chevals unt bons e les armes mult beles. Cil sunt par els en un val suz un tertre; Sis beneïst Carles de sa main destre. Els guierat Jozerans e Godselmes. CCXXIII E l'oidme eschele ad Naimes establie: De Flamengs est [e] des barons de Frise. Chevalers unt plus de .XL. milie; Ja devers els n'ert bataille guerpie. Ço dist li reis «Cist ferunt mun servise.» Entre Rembalt e Hamon de Galice Les guierunt tut par chevalerie. CCXXIV Entre Naimon e Jozeran le cunte La noefme eschele unt faite de prozdomes De Loherengs e de cels de Borgoigne. .L. milie chevalers unt par cunte, Helmes laciez e vestues lor bronies; Espiez unt forz e les hanstes sunt curtes. Si Arrabiz de venir ne demurent, Cil les ferrunt, s'il a els s'abandunent. Sis guierat Tierris, li dux d'Argone. CCXXV La disme eschele est des baruns de France: Cent milie sunt de noz meillors cataignes. Cors unt gaillarz e fieres cuntenances, Les chefs fluriz e les barbes unt blanches, Osbercs vestuz e lur brunies dubleines, Ceintes espees franceises e d'Espaigne; Escuz unt genz, de multes cunoisances. Puis sunt muntez, la bataille demandent; «Munjoie!» escrient: Od els est Carlemagne. Gefreid d'Anjou portet l'orieflambe: Seint Piere fut (...), si aveit num Romaine; Mais de Munjoie iloec out pris eschange. CCXXVI Li emperere de sun cheval descent; Sur l'erbe verte se est culchet adenz, Turnet su[n] vis vers le soleill levant, Recleimet Deu mult escordusement: «Veire Paterne, hoi cest jor me defend, Ki guaresis Jonas tut veirement De la baleine ki en sun cors l'aveit E espar(i)gnas le rei de Niniven E Daniel del merveillus turment Enz en la fosse des leons o fut enz, Les .III. enfanz tut en un fou ardant: La tue amurs me seit hoi en present! Par ta mercit, se tei plaist, me cunsent Que mun nevold pois[se] venger Rollant!» Cum ad oret, si se drecet en estant, Seignat sun chef de la vertut poisant. Muntet li reis en sun cheval curant; L'estreu li tindrent Neimes e Jocerans; Prent sun escut e sun espiet trenchant. Gent ad le cors, gaillart e ben seant, Cler le visage e de bon cuntenant. Puis si chevalchet mult aficheement. Sunent cil greisle e derere e devant; Sur tuz les altres bundist li olifant. Plurent Franceis pur pitet de Rollant. CCXXVII Mult gentement li emperere chevalchet: Desur sa bronie fors ad mise sa barbe. Pur sue amor altretel funt li altre: Cent milie Francs en sunt reconoisable. Passent cez puis e cez roches plus haltes, E cez parfunz val(ee)s, ces destreit anguisables, Issent des porz e de la tere guaste, Devers Espaigne sunt alez en la marche; En un emplein unt prise lur estage. A Baligant repairent ses enguardes. Uns Sulians ki ad dit sun message: «Veüd avum li orguillus reis Carles. Fiers sunt si hume, n'unt talent qu'il li faillent. Adubez vus, sempres avrez bataille!» Dist Baligant: «Or oi grant vasselage. Sunez voz graisles, que mi paien le sace[n]t!» CCXXVIII Par tute l'ost funt lur taburs suner, E cez buisines e cez greisles mult cler: Paien descendent pur lur cors aduber. Li amiralz ne se voelt demurer: Vest une bronie dunt li pan sunt sasfret, Lacet sun elme, ki ad or est gemmet, Puis ceint s'espee al senestre costet. Par sun orgoill li ad un num truvet: Par la spee Carlun dunt il oït parler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ço ert s'enseigne en bataille campel: Ses chevalers en ad fait escrier. Pent a sun col un soen grant escut let: D'or est la bucle e de cristal listet, La guige en est d'un bon palie roet; Tient sun espiet, si l'apelet Maltet: La hanste grosse cume uns tinels; De sul le fer fust uns mulez trusset. En sun destrer Baligant est muntet; L'estreu li tint Marcules d'Ultremer. La forcheüre ad asez grant li ber, Graisles les flancs e larges les costez; Gros ad le piz, belement est mollet, Lees les espalles e le vis ad mult cler, Fier le visage, le chef recercelet, Tant par ert blancs cume flur en estet; De vasselage est suvent esprovet. Deus! quel baron, s'oüst chrestientet! Le cheval brochet, li sancs en ist tuz clers, Fait sun eslais, si tressalt un fosset, Cinquante pez i poet hom mesurer. Paien escrient: «Cist deit marches tenser! N'i ad Franceis, si a lui vient juster, Voeillet o nun, n'i perdet sun edet. Carles est fols que ne s'en est alet.» CCXXIX Li amiralz ben resemblet barun. Blanche ad la barbe ensement cume flur, E de sa lei mult par est saives hom, E en bataille est fiers e orgoillus. Ses filz Malpramis mult est chevalerus: Granz est e forz e trait as anceisurs. Dist a sun perre: «Sire, car cevalchum! Mult me merveill se ja verrum Carlun.» Dist Baligant: «Oïl, car mult est proz. En plusurs gestes de lui sunt granz honurs. Il n'en at mie de Rollant sun nevold: N'avrat vertut ques tienget cuntre nus.» CCXXX - «Bels filz Malpramis,» ço li dist Baligant, «Li altrer fut ocis le bon vassal Rollant E Oliver, li proz e li vaillanz, Li .XII. per qui Carles amat tant, De cels de France .XX. milie cumbatanz. Trestuz les altres ne pris jo mie un guant. Li empereres repairet veirement, S'il m'at nunciet mes mes, li Sulians, .X. escheles en unt faites mult granz. Cil est mult proz ki sunet l'olifant, D'un graisle cler racatet ses cumpaignz; E si cevalcent el premer chef devant, Ensembl'od els .XV. milie de Francs, De bachelers que Carles cleimet enfanz. Apres icels en i ad ben altretanz: Cil i ferrunt mult orgoillusement.» Dist Malpramis: «Le colp vos en demant.» CCXXXI - «Filz Malpramis,» Baligant li ad dit, «Jo vos otri quanque m'avez ci quis. Cuntre Franceis sempres irez ferir; Si i merrez Torleu, le rei persis, E Dapamort, un altre rei leutiz. Le grant orgoill se ja puez matir, Jo vos durrai un pan de mun païs Des Cheriant entresqu'en Val Marchis.» Cil respunt: «Sire, vostre mercit!» Passet avant, le dun en requeillit, Ço est de la tere ki fut al rei Flurit, A itel ore unches puis ne la vit, Ne il n'en fut ne vestut ne saisit. CCXXXII Li amiraill chevalchet par cez oz. Sis filz le siut, ki mult ad grant le cors. Li reis Torleus e li reis Dapamort .XXX. escheles establissent mult tost: Chevalers unt a merveillus esforz; En la menur .L. milie en out. La premere est de cels de Butentrot, E l'altre apres de Micenes as chefs gros; Sur les eschines qu'il unt en mi les dos Cil sunt seiet ensement cume porc. E la t(er)erce est de Nubles e de Blos, E la quarte est de Bruns e d'Esclavoz, E la quinte est de Sorbres e de Sorz, E la siste est d'Ermines e de Mors, E la sedme est de cels de Jericho, E l'oitme est de Nigres e la noefme de Gros, E la disme est de Balide la fort: Ço est une gent ki unches ben ne volt. Li amiralz en juret quanqu'il poet De Mahumet les vertuz e le cors: «Karles de France chevalchet cume fols. Bataille i ert, se il ne s'en destolt; Jamais n'avrat el chef corone d'or.» CCXXXIII Dis escheles establisent apres. La premere est des Canelius les laiz, De Val Fuit sun venuz en traver. L'altre est de Turcs e la terce de Pers, E la quarte est de Pinceneis e de Pers, E la quinte est de Solteras e d'Avers, E la siste est d'Ormaleus e d'Eugiez, E la sedme est de la gent Samuel, L'oidme est de Bruise e la noefme de Clavers, E la disme est d'Occian le desert: Ço est une gent ki Damnedeu ne sert; De plus feluns n'orrez parler jamais. Durs unt les quirs ensement cume fer: Pur ço n'unt soign de elme ne d'osberc; En la bataille sunt felun e engres.

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