Lord Olivier then his good sword unsheathed. chanson de geste ». One thousand Knights, Of valor proved are left to guard the town. and gold; from Asia. He strips himself of breast-plate, helmet, sword. Is cleft to the very roots of his white beard: Then shouts the King his rallying cry, "Montjoie! Édition classique à l'usage des élèves de seconde. Rayonnement de la "Chanson de Roland." It seemed as though his breast would burst with wrath; His brain was well-nigh maddened by his rage. And now our arms can never more give Carle. The battle flag. And all the host disarm.—The mounted knights. And glorious deeds—The slain can counted be; In charts and briefs their numbers are enrolled: More than four thousand fell, so says the Geste. Who hears of this. The glove, and thou the staff." Carlmagne. "Sire Emperor," spoke forth Geffrei d'Anjou. List to my prayer; vouchsafe, Thus having prayed, he stands erect and marks, His forehead with the sign of might: Then mounts, A fleet-hoofed courser. Methinks he passed two hundred years; by arms. Should have, when mounted, armed, on his good steed! He pricks with golden spurs his charger's flanks. The King Marsile bestows on him the glove. The siege; by force you will be tak'n and bound, And brought to Aix, the royal seat. The King a wond'rous fight. Should he not come, gods, idols, once adored, He will renounce, the holy Faith of Christ. Sharply they spur, and all the Franks dash on. Le texte de cette chanson, qui compte 4002 vers, est uniquement composé de His main army had passed unmolested; but at And 'gainst him rushes with tremendous force. Who 'round him stand; then with firm voice exclaims: "Barons! strike on! Main La Chanson de Roland. God! Ne'er rash in words, he never speaks in haste. 'Twere best, We pierced him from afar, and left him lying. Smites Carle upon the helm of burnished steel. All night beside his head the Angel stands, And in a dream forebodes that 'gainst the French, Explains; then glancing up tow'rd Heav'n, King Carle, Sees thunder-clouds and winds, hail, raging storms, And wond'rous tempests—smould'ring fire and flames, His people falls the blast. Replies:—"No fight is there!—you, sire, are old. Thus holding each a branch of olive-tree. He drives. Two Franks the glory have of their defeat, As white as April blossom!" But loss of blood has made him all too weak: Ere he has gone an acre's length, his heart, Meantime the Count Rollánd revives.—Erect, He stands, but with great pain; then downward looks, Stretched out.—He lifts his eyes to Heav'n, recalls. protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. A dreadful blow, which to the nose-plate cleft, And split the crest in twain, but left the head. "—Quivering with rage and fear. The Count Rollánd calls Olivier: "With me, Companion, sire, confess that 'mong brave knights, The archbishop upon earth or under Heav'n, Has not his peer in casting spear or lance.". the glorious sign. century. "—And I with you," exclaimed the Count Gualtier; "Rollánd's own man am I, and follow him!". Now, unless Carlemagne the old, By flight escape, the King Marsile shall be, Avenged. When this I asked of you, You answered nay, and would do naught. By four spear-shafts transfixed, when the brave knight, Sprang quickly to his feet once more. Were gathered fully fifteen thousand knights. None under Heav'n more valiant in the fight. Upon the earth, the neck cloven in two halves. Then said the Count:—"Of this will I do naught! His golden spurs into his courser's flanks. ", "Thus shall we do, just Emperor, dear sire!". Publication date 1894 Usage Public Domain Mark 1.0 Topics Song of Roland, epic, Old French, France, Middle Ages Publisher Tours : Alfred Mame et fils Collection folkscanomy; … Respond the French:—"To ask is an offense. COVID-19 Resources. ], Swear if Rollánd be there that he shall die! Besiege her walls, though all your life it take, And thus avenge the knights the felon slew.". Of such good vassals Carle will see the loss.". The camp is struck:—the Franks then load their mules. And Godselmes their appointed leaders are. A man should for his Lord and for his cause. "Who could contrive that there Rollánd should die, Would strike off Carle's right arm. ", Nor speak another word, save by command!". by such good blows Carl's love is gained. A solemn feast. I suoi pari prega Dio a sé li chiami, e per sé prega l’angelo Gabriele. And strong, bearing his bright and glitt'ring arms. Throughout. By some that in that land the demons dwell. Mules, chargers, silken robes and garnitures. Gray were his eyes and very fierce his face; Graceful his form—his breast, of mighty mold. Responds:—"Death, Baligant, hangs o'er your head. "We pray you, sire, acquit Count Ganelon; Then will he serve you with true faith and love. Says:—"Sire Rollánd, and you, Sire Olivier. The poem takes the historical Battle of Roncesvalles (Roncevaux) in 778 as its subject. And thee a covenant I will strive to make. And stands with all the rest before Marsile. With such great tenderness and love they part. He lies. Stand firm your ground, that we may not succumb.". The King, in hope 'tis but a swoon, with tears. And in him springs again his former strength. Oh my sweet Durendal Born in the deep of the sky … Library; 15, 108; XIIIth. He calls the French and Olivier: "Companion, friend, pray, speak of this no more. Ay, by this hoary beard of mine, I swear, Not one of my twelve Peers shall thither go.". Faldrun del Pin he cleaves in half. Good aim, one blow has pierced the body through; And his strong lance-thrust hurls him dead to earth.—, He splits the shield with painted flowers and gold. Are fled.—But their gold-hilted swords they wield; And on the helms of steel they shower such blows. Barons of Frise and Flamengs Naimes enrolled, For the eighth legion. With this one blow the shaft has struck him dead. Carle fortifies, The towers of Sarraguce. Unto the Count he cried:—"I love you not; This judgment have you caused on me to fall! He splits in two the nazal, helm, nose, mouth, And teeth, the body and mailed-armor, then. He said—and straight on his bay destrier mounts; Four Dukes rode with him, and so fast he sped, Four Counts his stirrup held, and by the steps. The Pagans say:—"Hard is this blow! Both answer: "King, Will we assault. Had begged the Baron's help for Sarraguce. Cutting both eyes and visage in two parts. The Christian host in greatest sorrow mourn. To arms!". Non è certamente facile, ed esorbiterebbe dal nostro compito, ricercare chi sia stato il compilatore di questo Poema: nell’ultimo verso del codice di Oxford un oscuro trovero, Turold, [Thus King Marsile] said:—"Fair sire Ganelon, What means have I to kill the Count Rollànd? It is Carle's battle cry!". He shows. At such exploit amazed, the French exclaim: "The archbishop's crosier in his hand is safe!". O'ertop the spine enrooted in their backs, Their shaggy bodies bristling with coarse hair. ", On rush the Pagans at these words, and deal. Were shriven, assoiled, and blessed; a mass have heard, Communion have received, and richest alms, Bequeathed to monasteries.—Before striking. ", The Count Rollánd [addressing thus Carl'magne:]. 860, XIIIth. Baligant cried:—"Good news for our brave hearts! A lock of hair of Monseigneur Saint Denis. representation, in a modern language, of the coloring of this most His last; but to his help comes Carle of France. Of great saint Pierre—some blood of Saint Basile. Carle of sweet France is brave, but the Emir feels, Before him neither fear nor dread. 'Mid his way, Encountering Count Rollánd, though never seen, Before, at once he knew 'twas he, as well, Awe-struck, despite himself, he vainly tries. "'Tis time,", He said, "to think of camping now. There firm shall we remain; The combat and the blows from us shall come.". Carle for these shall weep and mourn. This day our breaking hearts forever part! I pledge, My word the French at once retrace their steps.". lxv: La Chronique du faux … lxiv: Popularity of the Chanson in its day and in later times due to its inspiration . ", Ganelon answers:—"May [our treaty thrive! Than we for aye lose glorious Spain the Fair, And suffer so great ills and doleful woes. ISBN 13: 9782253053415. Rollánd with bleeding mouth and temples burst. Stored in this land, I would not leave untold, While I have power of speech, the message sent. He laid him gently down, and fondly prayed: "O noble man, grant me your leave in this; Our brave compeers, so dear to us, have breathed. That I have served you well, Ere this, you know. Giving for penance his command to strike. The crimson blood, and his swoll'n temples burst. Meantime the French weep ... mourning for Rollánd. ", The twenty thousand knights who march with Carle. Twelve in French, by Francisque Michel, Bourdillon, Delécluze, Génin, P. The Heathens to the blest baptismal Font. God sends. And then the Pagans low incline, Their heads and chins, with brilliant helms bent down, To earth.—"Now, gluttons, comes your hour to die!". Has called in close array; the knight who bears. 'Tis he who held Carthage, Alferne, Garnaille. ", Exclaimed the King: "Vile traitors are ye all! No power will now disjoint the combatants: The death of one can only close the strife. Quick springing, dauntlessly unsheathed their swords. Franks and Pagans vie, Defending. "Most gentle Count, most valiant, where art thou? (Hruolandus britannici limitis præfectus), with many more, perished in Le couple anthroponyme "Roland et Olivier" en Hongrie médiévale [Radiance of the 'Song of Roland': the couple of the same names 'Roland and Oliver' in medieval Hungary] And pity were more sore than heart can bear.... Then said Rollánd:—"Fair comrade Olivier, Son of the good Count Renier, he who held. He clasps, His courser's neck, and should the Pagan deal, Another stroke, the noble Duke has breathed. Thence will he water bring to Count Rollánd. His son Malprime, Of knightly soul, and from his noble race. ", The French exclaim:—"Of him we must beware! And Carle: "Great shame were that to me! Far better that their heads. In: Bulletin Hispanique, tome 47, n°1, 1945. pp. High are the mountains, gloomy, terrible. The shields, of wood and leather multifold. For combat we shall have; recoils he not, His brow shall never more wear golden crown. In twenty squadrons mustered and arrayed. And joins the messengers of King Marsile. Montjoie! And thus his uncle greeted: 'Sire, behold! Reviews. The soul of Count Rollánd to Paradise.... Rollánd is dead: God has his soul in heaven. For thy mishap, left you to guard the Pass! Prone fainting on the green, for death draws near. La Chanson de Roland book. And to confusion bring our Lord the King? Nor there a horse has strength enough to stand; If one need grass, he bites it as he lies. Whose blade you'll see all reeking with red blood. So well I fought. Profane, insulting words, their God revile: "What ails thee, evil God, to shame us thus. Who holds the country toward the distant sea. 'Twill be Ogier de Dannemarche! Conflict confusedly, and naught more true, The earth shook from Saint Michiel-del-Peril, Unto the [sea-port] of Guitzand; no house, Whose walls unshaken stood; darkness at noon, Save when a flash rips up the clouds. The Count Rollánd stands on the field, alone. And then they kissed each other's lips and cheek. And worst;—they pluck his beard on lip and cheek; Each deals him with his fist four blows, and falls, On him with lash and stick; they chain his neck, As they would chain a bear, and he is thrown. "—And at his feet. He stands, and holds in two-fold chains a bear. And brought him to the grove before the King; And lo! Herman the Duke of Thrace, their chief, will die, Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count, have formed. In his right hand his ashen spear he holds, Which suddenly Count Ganelon has snatched, From him, and shook and brandished in such wise. Give ye this message to the King Marsile: I have come to succor him against the French. Ready to die, not one shall fail you here.". Christians and Pagans, sword in hand, engage; And valiant are their chiefs, nor mindless they. In God's name be no feud between you two; No more your horn shall save us; nathless 'twere, Far better Carle should come and soon avenge, Our deaths. Great woe it is, That there is no man who can give him death. Spurs on his steed and gallops to his help. Whereat cried Bramimunde:—"What folly this! The French to God and to his saints, once more, Commend them. Is gushing forth, has made him swoon with pain. Olivier said:—"To me there seems no shame; I have beheld the Moors of Spain; they swarm. Count Rollánd, Calls Olivier:—"Companion, sire, full well, Betrayed us all, and guerdon rich received, In gold and silver; well the Emp'ror should, Of us, but swords will make the reck'ning good. Like a true baron King Marsile rides forth, His buckler cleaves, his hauberk with a blow. There stands. Soon shall you see the host of Franks disperse; To France, their land, the Franks will take their way. _Pincinnati_; see Romania, II., p. 331-335, Unto the Pass, for all are doomed to die!". Malduit responds:—"Yea sire, the whole are there: Seven hundred camels with their loads of gold, The noblest ever lived beneath the stars.". With him none 'mong the French can cross a lance; Will they or not, their lives are forfeit now. He hastens, and falls stretched upon the grass. "Fair nephew, where art thou? Of battle cries:—"Precieuse!" "—Then from his palace runs, A greyhound fair which on the verdant grass, Before them all. Then sixty thousand trumps rang forth their peals; The Pagans hear—and stay their gabbling mirth. Traduzione di Pietro G. Beltrami (15.01.2006). together with him are Roland and Oliver, duke Samson and AnseŁs the proud, Geoffrey of Anjou, the kingÕs standard-bearer, and there, too, are Gerin and Gerier and many others with them, even fifteen thousand men of fair France. Vast realms, I shall have conquered once that now are ruled. Such peerless knight none ever yet has seen, Mine honor turns to its decline!—" Once more. Shall see no day uncursed by grief and wrath. To Christ's law which they will not hold nor keep. Addressed his father:—"Sire, to horse! When Count Rollánd beheld his Peers lie dead. Mine—although, He die, I give. The French with sad and angered looks. The French arise. So many brave!—Lords, to sweet France ye will go. By the Archbishop's. As rashed the thongs. 2010年10月9日 - the Chanson de Roland, preserved in the Oxford Manuscript Digby 23. O'erhung, was spread with Alexandrine silk. Each knows, And 'mid the field encountering, gives and takes. It tells the story of Charlemagne’s attempt to free the city of Zaragoza from the Saracens. Una terza ipotesi è che il califfo di Cordova abbia chiamato Carlo Magno in suo soccorso nelle lotte tra principi saraceni, e che, una volta giunto l'esercito franco, abbia fatto il doppio gioco chiudendogli la porta in faccia. When the French legions broken thus he saw, He called Tierri Duke of Argonne, Geffrei, These haughty words to Carle:—"Behold our men, By Pagans slaughtered!

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