THE SONG OF ROLAND

Roland, who fell at Roncesvalles, was Charlemagne’s nephew and one of the bravest of knights. This is all that is really known of him, but that is enough for a legend. There was something so touching about the early death of the gallant young Roland that people told the story over and over. They put in what details they knew and added others that they imagined. Minstrels sang songs of Roncesvalles, and by and by some poet, no one knows his name, put the story into the form of a poem, and in this form it has been handed down to us for eight hundred years.

Of course the poet who wrote this “Song of Roland” was more interested in making a poem than in being historically accurate, and he begins the story by saying that Charlemagne had been in Spain seven years, winning victories wherever he went. Saragossa was the only city not yet conquered. Its king, Marsila, realizing that he could not resist the great emperor, sent messengers to ask for peace.

The ten envoys, dressed in the richest of robes and riding upon the whitest of mules, set out for the camp of Charlemagne. In their hands they carried branches of olive. Four hundred mules followed them, laden with silver and gold. “We will be baptized,” the envoys were to say, “and we will give our sons to you as hostages. We will agree to hold fair Spain as a fief of yours, if you and your army will but cross the Pyrenees and return to the land of the Franks.”

Then Charlemagne and his barons discussed the offer of Marsila. Roland sprang to his feet. “Do you not remember,” he cried, “that once before this same Marsila sent you an olive branch, but that when you accepted his submission and sent envoys to him in return, he slew them falsely and treacherously? O my king, let us carry on the war in the good old fashion, the fashion that has no failure for its end! Let us storm the walls of Saragossa and conquer this maker of false promises!”

Then arose Ganelon, stepfather of Roland, and urged the emperor to accept the submission of Marsila. So advised others, and then the question arose, Who is to go? Roland begged to be sent, but Charlemagne refused. Then Roland named Ganelon, and Ganelon was sent, in a mad rage and vowing revenge upon his stepson.

Once arrived at the court of Marsila, he delivered the message of Charlemagne nobly and as a faithful knight of the great emperor should do. Then his hatred of Roland overcame him, and for the sake of vengeance he was ready to betray his stepson and his sovereign.

“King Marsila,” said the faithless envoy, “with all your power you could never overcome Charlemagne in open battle, but by craft and artful cunning you may do more than you dream. Listen to what I would advise. Do you send costly gifts and the keys of your city and many hostages to Charlemagne in proof that you have yielded to him. He will start for home happy and unsuspecting. Then, when he is far ahead, do you come upon the rear guard and cut them down to a man. Never will Charlemagne recover from such a blow, and never again will he venture to cross the Pyrenees or disturb you in your kingdom.”

“Do you swear by all that is holy to keep faith with me?” demanded Marsila. “I swear it,” declared the traitor, “and what is more, I swear that the leader of the rear guard shall be one Roland, nephew of Charlemagne and dearest to his heart.”

So the evil plan was formed, and Ganelon set out on his return, with seven hundred camels loaded with gold and silver for Charlemagne, and the richest gifts for the traitor who was plotting to work his overthrow.

Charlemagne and his knights were watching anxiously; and when Ganelon came in sight and told them that all was well, that Marsila yielded and sent gifts and hostages and the keys of Saragossa, they were overjoyed, and could hardly plan rewards generous enough to repay the successful envoy.

Straightway the camp was broken up and the army made ready to set out on the march to Francia and home, to their wives and their children. Charlemagne did not suspect any treachery, but he was a careful general, and he planned that, while the main part of his army was marching over the mountains, a faithful body of men should be left as rear guard to make their safety sure. To lead this rear guard was a post of danger, but it was also a post of honor, and when the traitor Ganelon suggested that Roland should be in command, the other knights rejoiced that the gallant young warrior was to have this recognition of his bravery.

With trumpets and banners Charlemagne and his followers started on their homeward way. Roland put on his well-polished armor, buckled on his beloved sword Durendal, his trusty sword with the golden hilt, mounted his noble horse Veillantif, and waved the white banner fastened to the end of his lance. Oliver, his dearest friend, whose sister was his betrothed, galloped to his side, and soon the line was formed. The emperor and his hundred thousand followers waved their banners in farewell and marched slowly up the mountain ridges. With the passing of every hour, home was nearer, and they were more and more happy--all but the emperor. For him, too, wife and children were waiting, but he feared for his beloved Roland and the rear guard. He remembered that Ganelon had named him for the place of danger, and he recalled the look of hatred in Ganelon’s eyes as he spoke the name of his stepson. Then, too, Charlemagne had had a dream wherein he had seen great evil befall the brave young knight. But such fancies as these were no reason for turning back with his army, and though sad and gloomy, he marched on away from Spain and Roland.

The emperor might well have had visions of evil befalling Roland, for four hundred thousand of the pagans were advancing upon him. There were but twenty thousand of the rear guard, for in spite of Charlemagne’s urging, Roland had scorned to take more. The music of Saracen clarions and the heavy tramping of Saracen feet could be heard, and Oliver begged Roland to sound a blast on his horn that the emperor might hear it and come to their aid; but Roland was fired with the thought of the glory that he and his little troop might win, and he refused. Again and yet again did Oliver beg him to blow his horn, but Roland would not yield, and soon the mighty forces of the pagans were upon them.

The poet does not hesitate to make a story thrilling while he is about it. Oliver kills seven hundred with the broken fragment of a lance. All but one man of the ten thousand in the advance guard of the Saracens soon fall, and that one man flees for his life. But other pagan thousands were coming, and at last Roland sounded his horn. Thirty leagues away Charlemagne heard it and knew that it was the horn of Roland, and that he was in dire distress. A second time it sounded and even a third, but fainter and fainter. Then Charlemagne and his men put spurs to their horses and dashed back toward the pass of Roncesvalles, where Roland and his little band of fifty were doing their best to meet sixty thousand of their enemies. Oliver fell, and before long only Roland and Archbishop Turpin, the fighting archbishop, were alive. Four hundred pagans had banded together to kill Roland; but when they heard the distant trumpets of the emperor, they fled in rage and terror.

The archbishop was sorely wounded, but with his last breath he pronounced a blessing upon the brave twenty thousand who had fallen in the battle. Roland was faint from loss of blood and knew that his hour had come. He threw himself down under a great pine tree to die with his face toward Spain. “Here my emperor shall find me, with face to the foe, as a conqueror should lie,” he said to himself; and then he prayed, “Father, O Father, forgive me my sins and grant me to live with Thee in Thy heaven!”

Under the pine tree the emperor found his beloved knight, and fell by his side, fainting with grief. But the foes of the Franks were upon him, an enormous army brought together from forty kingdoms. They were routed, Saragossa fell into the hands of Charlemagne, and its inhabitants had to choose between the sword and the waters of baptism. The sister of Oliver fell dead on hearing the news of the death of her betrothed and her brother. Ganelon met with a terrible punishment; and so the story ends.