Hero-Myths & Legends of the British Race
once, while the Franks were still weary. The advice seemed good to
Marsile, and he advanced at the head of a hundred thousand men, whom
he now hurled against the French in columns of fifty thousand at a
time; and they came on right valiantly, with clarions sounding and
trumpets blowing.
"'Soldiers of the Lord,' cried Turpin,
'Be ye valiant and steadfast,
For this day shall crowns be given you
Midst the flowers of Paradise.
In the name of God our Saviour,
Be ye not dismayed nor frighted,
Lest of you be shameful legends
Chanted by the tongue of minstrels.
Rather let us die victorious,
Since this eve shall see us lifeless!--
Heaven has no room for cowards!
Knights, who nobly fight, and vainly,
Ye shall sit amid the holy
In the blessed fields of Heaven.
On then, Friends of God, to glory!'"
And the battle raged anew, with all the odds against the small handful
of French, who knew they were doomed, and fought as though they were
"fey."[13]
Gloomy Portents
Meanwhile the whole course of nature was disturbed. In France there
were tempests of wind and thunder, rain and hail; thunderbolts fell
everywhere, and the earth shook exceedingly. From Mont St. Michel to
Cologne, from Besancon to Wissant, not one town could show its walls
uninjured, not one village its houses unshaken. A terrible darkness
spread over all the land, only broken when the heavens split asunder
with the lightning-flash. Men whispered in terror: "Behold the end of
the world! Behold the great Day of Doom!" Alas! they knew not the
truth: it was the great mourning for the death of Roland.
Many French Knights Fall
In this second battle the French champions were weary, and before long
they began to fall before the valour of the newly arrived Saracen
nobles. First died Engelier the Gascon, mortally wounded by the lance
of that Saracen who swore brotherhood to Ganelon; next Samson, and the
noble Duke Anseis. These three were well avenged by Roland and Oliver
and Turpin. Then in quick succession died Gerin and Gerier and other
valiant Peers at the hands of Grandoigne, until his death-dealing
career was cut short by Durendala. Another desperate single combat was
won by Turpin, who slew a heathen emir "as black as molten pitch."
The Second Army Defeated
Finally this second host of the heathens gave way and fled, begging
Marsile to come and succour them; but now of the victorious French
there were but sixty valiant champions left alive, including Roland,
Oliver, and the fiery prelate Turpin.
A Third Appears
Now the third host of the pagans began to roll forward upon the
dauntless little band, and in the short breathing-space before the
Saracens again attacked them Roland cried aloud to Oliver:
"'Fair Knight and Comrade, see these heroes,
Valiant warriors, lying lifeless!
I must mourn for our fair country
France, left widowed of her barons.
Charles my King, why art thou absent?
Brother mine, how shall we send him
Mournful tidings of our struggle?'
'How I know not,' said his comrade.
'Better death than vile dishonour.'"
Roland Willing to Blow his Horn
"'Comrade, I will blow my war-horn:
Charles will hear it in the passes
And return with all his army.'
Oliver quoth: ''Twere disgraceful
To your kinsmen all their life-days.
When I urged it, then you would not;
Now, to sound your horn is shameful,
And I never will approve it.'"
Oliver Objects. They Quarrel
"'See, the battle goes against us:
Comrade, I shall sound my war-horn.'
Oliver replied: 'O coward!
When I urged it, then you would not.
If fair France again shall greet me
You shall never wed my sister;
By this beard of mine I swear it!'
"'Why so bitter and so wrathful?'
Oliver returned: ''Tis thy fault;
Valour is not kin to madness,
Temperance knows naught of fury.
You have killed these noble champions,
You have slain the Emperor's vassals,
You have robbed us of our conquests.
Ah, your valour, Count, is fatal!
Charles must lose his doughty heroes,
And your league with me must finish
With this day in bitter sorrow.'"
Turpin Mediates
Archbishop Turpin heard the dispute, and strove to calm the angry
heroes. "Brave knights, be not so enraged. The horn will not save the
lives of these gallant dead, but it will be better to sound it, that
Charles, our lord and emperor, may return, may avenge our death and
weep over our corpses, may bear them to fair France, and bury them in
the sanctuary, where the wild beasts shall not devour them." "That is
well said," quoth Roland and Oliver.
The Horn is Blown
Then at last Roland put the carved ivory horn, the magic Olifant, to
his lips, and blew so loudly that the sound echoed thirty leagues
away. "Hark! our men are in combat!" cried Charlemagne; but Ganelon
retorted: "Had any but the king said it, that had been a lie."
A second time Roland blew his horn, so violently and with such anguish
that the veins of his temples burst, and the blood flowed from his
brow and from his mouth. Charlemagne, pausing, heard it again, and
said: "That is Roland's horn; he would not sound it were there no
battle." But Ganelon said mockingly: "There is no battle, for Roland
is too proud to sound his horn in danger. Besides, who would dare to
attack Roland, the strong, the valiant, great and wonderful Roland? No
man. He is doubtless hunting, and laughing with the Peers. Your
words, my liege, do but show how old and weak and doting you are. Ride
on, sire; the open country lies far before you."
When Roland blew the horn for the third time he had hardly breath to
awaken the echoes; but still Charlemagne heard. "How faintly comes the
sound! There is death in that feeble blast!" said the emperor; and
Duke Naimes interrupted eagerly: "Sire, Roland is in peril; some one
has betrayed him--doubtless he who now tries to beguile you! Sire,
rouse your host, arm for battle, and ride to save your nephew."
Ganelon Arrested
Then Charlemagne called aloud: "Hither, my men. Take this traitor
Ganelon and keep him safe till my return." And the kitchen folk seized
the felon knight, chained him by the neck, and beat him; then, binding
him hand and foot, they flung him on a sorry nag, to be borne with
them till Charles should demand him at their hands again.
Charles Returns
With all speed the whole army retraced their steps, turning their
faces to Spain, and saying: "Ah, if we could find Roland alive what
blows we would strike for him!" Alas! it was too late! Too late!
How lofty are the peaks, how vast and shadowy the mountains! How dim
and gloomy the passes, how deep the valleys! How swift the rushing
torrents! Yet with headlong speed the Frankish army hastens back, with
trumpets sounding in token of approaching help, all praying God to
preserve Roland till they come. Alas! they cannot reach him in time!
Too late. Too late!
Roland Weeps for his Comrades
Now Roland cast his gaze around on hill and valley, and saw his noble
vassals and comrades lie dead. As a noble knight he wept for them,
saying:
"'Fair Knights, may God have mercy on your souls!
May He receive you into Paradise
And grant you rest on banks of heavenly flowers!
Ne'er have I known such mighty men as you.
Fair France, that art the best of all dear lands,
How art thou widowed of thy noble sons!
Through me alone, dear comrades, have you died,
And yet through me no help nor safety comes.
God have you in His keeping! Brother, come,
Let us attack the heathen and win death,
Or grief will slay me! Death is duty now.'"
He Fights Desperately
So saying, he rushed into the battle, slew the only son of King
Marsile, and drove the heathen before him as the hounds drive the
deer. Turpin saw and applauded. "So should a good knight do, wearing
good armour and riding a good steed. He must deal good strong strokes
in battle, or he is not worth a groat. Let a coward be a monk in some
cloister and pray for the sins of us fighters."
Marsile in wrath attacked the slayer of his son, but in vain; Roland
struck off his right hand, and Marsile fled back mortally wounded to
Saragossa, while his main host, seized with panic, left the field to
Roland. However, the caliph, Marsile's uncle, rallied the ranks, and,
with fifty thousand Saracens, once more came against the little troop
of Champions of the Cross, the three poor survivors of the rearguard.
Roland cried aloud: "Now shall we be martyrs for our faith. Fight
boldly, lords, for life or death! Sell yourselves dearly! Let not fair
France be dishonoured in her sons. When the Emperor sees us dead with
our slain foes around us he will bless our valour."
Oliver Falls
The pagans were emboldened by the sight of the three alone, and the
caliph, rushing at Oliver, pierced him from behind with his lance. But
though mortally wounded Oliver retained strength enough to slay the
caliph, and to cry aloud: "Roland! Roland! Aid me!" then he rushed on
the heathen army, doing heroic deeds and shouting "Montjoie!
Montjoie!" while the blood ran from his wound and stained the earth
blood-red. At this woeful sight Roland swooned with grief, and Oliver,
faint from loss of blood, and with eyes dimmed by fast-coming death,
distinguished not the face of his dear friend; he saw only a vague
figure drawing near, and, mistaking it for an enemy, raised his sword
Hauteclaire and gave Roland one last terrible blow, which clove the
helmet, but harmed not the head. The blow roused Roland from his
swoon, and, gazing tenderly at Oliver, he gently asked him:
"'Comrade and brother, was that blow designed
To slay your Roland, him who loves you so?
There is no vengeance you would wreak on me.'
'Roland, I hear you speak, but see you not.
God guard and keep you, friend; but pardon me
The blow I struck, unwitting, on your head.'
'I have no hurt,' said Roland; 'I forgive
Here and before the judgment-throne of God.'"
And Dies
Now Oliver felt the pains of death come upon him. Both sight and
hearing were gone, his colour fled, and, dismounting, he lay upon the
earth; there, humbly confessing his sins, he begged God to grant him
rest in Paradise, to bless his lord Charlemagne and the fair land of
France, and to keep above all men his comrade Roland, his best-loved
brother-in-arms. This ended, he fell back, his heart failed, his head
drooped low, and Oliver the brave and courteous knight lay dead on the
blood-stained earth, with his face turned to the east. Roland lamented
him in gentle words: "Comrade, alas for thy valour! Many days and
years have we been comrades: no ill didst thou to me, nor I to thee:
now thou art dead, 'tis pity that I live!"
Turpin is Mortally Wounded. The Horn Again
Turpin and Roland now stood together for a time and were joined by the
brave Count Gautier, whose thousand men had been slain, and he himself
grievously wounded; he now came, like a loyal vassal, to die with his
lord Roland, and was slain in the first discharge of arrows which the
Saracens shot. Taught by experience, the pagans kept their distance,
and wounded Turpin with four lances, while they stood some yards away
from the heroes. But when Turpin felt himself mortally wounded he
plunged into the throng of the heathen, killing four hundred before he
fell, and Roland fought on with broken armour, and with ever-bleeding
head, till in a pause of the deadly strife he took his horn and again
sent forth a feeble dying blast.
Charles Answers the Horn
Charlemagne heard it, and was filled with anguish. "Lords, all goes