Читать книгу The Song of Roland - Anonymous - Страница 7

XXX

Said Blancandrin, "Your Franks are high of fame,

But your dukes and counts are sore to blame.

Such counsel to their lord they give,

Nor he nor others in peace may live."

Ganelon answered, "I know of none,

Save Roland, who thus to his shame hath done.

Last morn the Emperor sat in the shade,

His nephew came in his mail arrayed,—

He had plundered Carcassonne just before,

And a vermeil apple in hand he bore:

'Sire,' he said, 'to your feet I bring

The crown of every earthly king.'

Disaster is sure such pride to blast;

He setteth his life on a daily cast.

Were he slain, we all should have peace at last."

XXXI

"Ruthless is Roland," Blancandrin spake,

"Who every race would recreant make,

And on all possessions of men would seize;

But in whom doth he trust for feats like these?"

"The Franks! the Franks!" Count Ganelon cried;

"They love him, and never desert his side;

For he lavisheth gifts that seldom fail,

Gold and silver in countless tale,

Mules and chargers, and silks and mail,

The king himself may have spoil at call.

From hence to the East he will conquer all."

XXXII

Thus Blancandrin and Ganelon rode,

Till each on other his faith bestowed

That Roland should be by practice slain,

And so they journeyed by path and plain,

Till in Saragossa they bridle drew,

There alighted beneath a yew.

In a pine-tree's shadow a throne was set;

Alexandrian silk was the coverlet:

There the monarch of Spain they found,

With twenty thousand Saracens round,

Yet from them came nor breath nor sound;

All for the tidings they strained to hear,

As they saw Blancandrin and Ganelon near.

XXXIII

Blancandrin stepped before Marsil's throne,

Ganelon's hand was in his own.

"Mahound you save," to the king he said,

"And Apollin, whose holy law we dread!

Fairly your errand to Karl! was done;

But other answer made he none,

Save that his hands to Heaven he raised,

Save that a space his God he praised;

He sends a baron of his court,

Knight of France, and of high report,

Of him your tidings of peace receive."

"Let him speak," said Marsil, "we yield him leave."

XXXIV

Gan had bethought him, and mused with art;

Well was he skilled to play his part;

And he said to Marsil, "May God you save,

The God of glory, whose grace we crave!

Thus saith the noble Carlemaine:

You shall make in Christ confession plain.

And he gives you in fief full half of Spain;

The other half shall be Roland's share

(Right haughty partner, he yields you there);

And should you slight the terms I bear,

He will come and gird Saragossa round,

You shall be taken by force and bound,

Led unto Aix, to his royal seat,

There to perish by judgment meet,

Dying a villainous death of shame."

Over King Marsil a horror came;

He grasped his javelin, plumed with gold,

In act to smite, were he not controlled.

XXXV

King Marsil's cheek the hue hath left,

And his right hand grasped his weapon's heft.

When Ganelon saw it, his sword he drew

Finger lengths from the scabbard two.

"Sword," he said, "thou art clear and bright;

I have borne thee long in my fellows's sight,

Mine emperor never shall say of me,

That I perished afar, in a strange countrie,

Ere thou in the blood of their best wert dyed."

"Dispart the mellay," the heathens cried.

XXXVI

The noblest Saracens thronged amain,

Seated the king on his throne again,

And the Algalif said, "'Twas a sorry prank,

Raising your weapon to slay the Frank.

It was yours to hearken in silence there."

"Sir," said Gan, "I may meetly bear,

But for all the wealth of your land arrayed,

For all the gold that God hath made,

Would I not live and leave unsaid,

What Karl, the mightiest king below,

Sends, through me, to his mortal foe."

His mantle of fur, that was round him twined,

With silk of Alexandria lined,

Down at Blancandrin's feet he cast,

But still he held by his good sword fast,

Grasping the hilt by its golden ball.

"A noble knight," say the heathens all.

XXXVII

Ganelon came to the king once more.

"Your anger," he said, "misserves you sore.

As the princely Carlemaine saith, I say,

You shall the Christian law obey.

And half of Spain you shall hold in fee,

The other half shall Count Roland's be,

(And a haughty partner 'tis yours to see).

Reject the treaty I here propose,

Round Saragossa his lines will close;

You shall be bound in fetters strong,

Led to his city of Aix along.

Nor steed nor palfrey shall you bestride,

Nor mule nor jennet be yours to ride;

On a sorry sumpter you shall be cast,

And your head by doom stricken off at last.

So is the Emperor's mandate traced,"—

And the scroll in the heathen's hand he placed.

XXXVIII

Discolored with ire was King Marsil's hue;

The seal he brake and to earth he threw,

Read of the scroll the tenor clear.

"So Karl the Emperor writes me here.

Bids me remember his wrath and pain

For sake of Basan and Basil slain,

Whose necks I smote on Haltoia's hill;

Yet, if my life I would ransom still,

Mine uncle the Algalif must I send,

Or love between us were else at end."

Then outspake Jurfalez, Marsil's son:

"This is but madness of Ganelon.

For crime so deadly his life shall pay;

Justice be mine on his head this day."

Ganelon heard him, and waved his blade,

While his back against a pine he stayed.

XXXIX

Into his orchard King Marsil stepped.

His nobles round him their station kept:

There was Jurfalez, his son and heir,

Blancandrin of the hoary hair,

The Algalif, truest of all his kin.

Said Blancandrin, "Summon the Christian in;

His troth he pledged me upon our side."

"Go," said Marsil, "be thou his guide."

Blancandrin led him, hand-in-hand,

Before King Marsil's face to stand.

Then was the villainous treason planned.

XL

"Fair Sir Ganelon," spake the king,

"I did a rash and despighteous thing,

Raising against thee mine arm to smite.

Richly will I the wrong requite.

See these sables whose worth were told

At full five hundred pounds of gold:

Thine shall they be ere the coming day."

"I may not," said Gan, "your grace gainsay.

God in His pleasure will you repay."

XLI

"Trust me I love thee, Sir Gan, and fain

Would I hear thee discourse of Carlemaine.

He is old, methinks, exceedingly old;

And full two hundred years hath told;

With toil his body spent and worn,

So many blows on his buckler borne,

So many a haughty king laid low,

When will he weary of warring so?"

"Such is not Carlemaine," Gan replied;

"Man never knew him, nor stood beside,

But will say how noble a lord is he,

Princely and valiant in high degree.

Never could words of mine express

His honor, his bounty, his gentleness,

'Twas God who graced him with gifts so high.

Ere I leave his vassalage I will die."

XLII

The heathen said, "I marvel sore

Of Carlemaine, so old and hoar,

Who counts I ween two hundred years,

Hath borne such strokes of blades and spears,

So many lands hath overrun,

So many mighty kings undone,

When will he tire of war and strife?"

"Not while his nephew breathes in life.

Beneath the cope of heaven this day

Such vassal leads not king's array.

Gallant and sage is Olivier,

And all the twelve, to Karl so dear,

With twenty thousand Franks in van,

He feareth not the face of man."

XLIII

"Strange," said Marsil, "seems to me,

Karl, so white with eld is he,

Twice a hundred years, men say,

Since his birth have passed away.

All his wars in many lands,

All the strokes of trenchant brands,

All the kings despoiled and slain,—

When will he from war refrain?"

"Not till Roland breathes no more,

For from hence to eastern shore,

Where is chief with him may vie?

Olivier his comrades by,

And the peers, of Karl the pride,

Twenty thousand Franks beside,

Vanguard of his host, and flower:

Karl may mock at mortal power."