Roncevaux

I've been reading Cees Nooteboom's Roads to Santiago, which chronicles the Dutch writer's  circuitous pilgrimage (by car) through Spain, less in search of spiritual favors than for the spirits of Cervantes, Zurbarán, Velasquez, Romanesque churches and Cistercian monasteries, tiny villages hung in mountain valleys, virtually unchanged since the Middle Ages. One of the places he visits is the town of Roncesvalles, home of the Abbey of Roncevaux. I love both of those words, which you just have to say aloud: -- Roncevaux, Roncesvalles -- but it took me a while to remember that this is the place where, in 778, the Moors attacked and destroyed the rear guard of Charlemagne's army, while the king and the rest of his army went on ahead bearing treasure and promises of fialty and Christian conversion they had received from the last Moorish stronghold, Saragossa. The promises were a trick, and all the remaining French were lost, partly because the knight Roland refused to signal Charlemagne in time. The great battle was commemorated in one of the earliest works of French literature, The Song of Roland.

Then, a few mornings ago, I was catching up on Lucy's blog, Box Elder, and saw that she had just been there, in Basque country! That was too much of a coincidence, so today I did some research, and downloaded The Song of Roland to read, as well as some of the best images that have been painted of the battle. I haven't yet read the whole thing, but in spite of the power of the epic I found myself aghast at its blatant, Crusader-like message of "Christians are right, Muslims are wrong -- and pagan -- and therefore deserve to die." Of course, the battle took a different course on that day, but one wonders if the world has advanced very much.

My favorites illustrations of the story, though, -- and this is probably what jogged my memory -- are those from The Golden Treasury of Myths and Legends, one of my most-beloved books from childhood, by Alice and Martin Provensen, whose work is much admired by me and by Clive Hicks-Jenkins. I can still remember my mother reading me this story at my bedside, and hear her repeating, "Roland! Blow your horn!" As a fledgling musician, I think I was particularly struck by the idea that someone could blow a horn until their temples burst. But such is the stuff of legend.

Li quens Rollant, par peine e par ahans,  
Par grant dulor sunet sun olifan.  
Par mi la buche en salt fors li cler sancs.  
De sun cervel le temple en est rumpant.  
Del corn qu'il tient l'oiïe en est mult grant:  
Karles l'entent, ki est as porz passant.  
Naimes li duc l'oïd, si l'escultent li Franc. 


The Count Rollanz, with sorrow and with pangs,
And with great pain sounded his olifant:
Out of his mouth the clear blood leaped and ran,
About his brain the very temples cracked.
Loud is its voice, that horn he holds in hand;
Charles hath heard, where in the pass he stands,
And Neimes hears, and listen all the Franks.

Comments

[Lucy]

Oh thank you for this, what a wonderful offshoot, and those illustrations are splendid, kind of familiar but fresh, I can see why Clive likes them.

I downloaded 'Roland' too, and I stick a bit on it too. I asked my brother if he had his Oliphaunt to blow in case he was in trouble, and we agreed his mobile phone was probably the nearest thing. But he told me that in fact it was the Basques who attacked Charlemagne's rearguard, not the Moors, because Charlemagne had promised not to damage Pamplona then reneged on that promise, since he didn't want it to fall into Moorish hands. The Basques were naturally incensed, and pursued him over the Pyrenees in vengeance. But I kind of like the Roland story because there's something a bit archetypal in it; the brave retainer forced into an action that he knows to be unwise and fatal by the pride and stupidity of his commander, the malice and treachery of a less worthy rival, and by his own pride and loyalty in being unable to turn down the challenge. It crops up in other places, like The Ballad of Sir Patrick Spens, for example.

I think my first encounter with that cycle of legends was in a book of stories and legends about animals I had as a child, about the brothers Aymon, enemies of Charlemagne, and their magical horse Bayard. It was never really clear in any of those tales who were the goodies and who the baddies; everything was big and savage and barbaric and magical.

The basis of much of the pilgrimage is uncomfortable for us in many ways now, St James the Moorslayer, etc, though perhaps quite a bit of that was hyped up later, after the Crusades and again with Ferdinand and Isabella...

Thanks again Beth!

[Jean]

What gorgeous illustrations - never seen or heard of this book.

The tale of Roland, I agree - ugh! Still, I've rarely felt as spooked as I did walking through the oak forest where he's said to have died. I guess it's just the power of a story so old.

[Clive Hicks-Jenkins]

What a treat! Thank you Beth. Always good to see the Provenesens remembered and appreciated. Good too to recall all those years on how diverse and fresh that list off contents from The Golden Treasury of Myths and Legends appears. Hard to imagine a children's book editor today agreeing to 'The Battle of Ronceveaux: the guile of Blancadrin' as subject matter. Indeed harder still to imagine a subtitle being used, let alone one with the word 'guile' in!

[Lorenzo da Ponte]

Testing my modern-day French against the poem; I'd have been very hard-pressed without the crib. I like the way olifant is dropped in casually but then, as the poet must have said at the time: no description necessary, everyone knows what an olifant is. I wonder if your mind is something of a battlefield when it comes to sagbut, shawm (spelling?) etc. The names are romantic, it's nice to transport oneself back to hear Sumer is Icumen In played as Henry VIII might have heard it, but oh how much more rewarding to dwell on how and why - especially why - musical instruments have evolved.

[Hattie]

I've never done the Santiago route, but friends of mine are there right now. I am very happy looking at this book and thinking about my impressions of Spain.