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is one of the oldest versions of Charlemagne's fabulous adventures now extant. It contains the mythical
account of the battle of Roncesvalles (Vale of Thorns), told with infinite repetition and detail so as to give it
an appearance of reality.
[Sidenote: Chanson de Roland.] Einhard, the son-in-law and historian of Charlemagne, records a partial
defeat in the Pyrenees in 777-778, and adds that Hroudlandus was slain. From this bald statement arose the
mediaeval "Chanson de Roland," which was still sung at the battle of Hastings. The probable author of the
French metrical version is Turoldus; but the poem, numbering originally four thousand lines, has gradually
been lengthened, until now it includes more than forty thousand. There are early French, Latin, German,
Italian, English, and Icelandic versions of the adventures of Roland, which in the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries were turned into prose, and formed the basis of the "Romans de Chevalerie," which were popular for
so many years. Numerous variations can, of course, be noted in these tales, which have been worked over
again by the Italian poets Ariosto and Boiardo, and even treated by Buchanan in our day.
It would be impossible to give in this work a complete synopsis of all the chansons de gestes referring to
Charlemagne and his paladins, so we will content ourselves with giving an abstract of the most noted ones and
telling the legends which are found in them, which have gradually been woven around those famous names
and connected with certain localities.
[Sidenote: Charlemagne and the heavenly message.] We are told that Charlemagne, having built a beautiful
new palace for his use, overlooking the Rhine, was roused from his sleep during the first night he spent there
by the touch of an angelic hand, and, to his utter surprise, thrice heard the heavenly messenger bid him go
forth and steal. Not daring to disobey, Charlemagne stole unnoticed out of the palace, saddled his steed, and,
armed cap-a-pie, started out to fulfill the angelic command.
He had not gone far when he met an unknown knight, evidently bound on the same errand. To challenge, lay
his lance in rest, charge, and unhorse his opponent, was an easy matter for Charlemagne. When he learned that
he had disarmed Elbegast (Alberich), the notorious highwayman, he promised to let him go free if he would
only help him steal something that night.
CHAPTER VIII. 63
Guided by Elbegast, Charlemagne, still incognito, went to the castle of one of his ministers, and, thanks to
Elbegast's cunning, penetrated unseen into his bedroom. There, crouching in the dark, Charlemagne overheard
him confide to his wife a plot to murder the emperor on the morrow. Patiently biding his time until they were
sound asleep, Charlemagne picked up a worthless trifle, and noiselessly made his way out, returning home
unseen. On the morrow, profiting by the knowledge thus obtained, he cleverly outwitted the conspirators,
whom he restored to favor only after they had solemnly sworn future loyalty. As for Elbegast, he so admired
the only man who had ever succeeded in conquering him that he renounced his dishonest profession to enter
the emperor's service.
In gratitude for the heavenly vision vouchsafed him, the emperor named his new palace Ingelheim (Home of
the Angel), a name which the place has borne ever since. This thieving episode is often alluded to in the later
romances of chivalry, where knights, called upon to justify their unlawful appropriation of another's goods,
disrespectfully remind the emperor that he too once went about as a thief.
[Sidenote: Frastrada's magic ring.] When Charlemagne's third wife died, he married a beautiful Eastern
princess by the name of Frastrada, who, aided by a magic ring, soon won his most devoted affection. The new
queen, however, did not long enjoy her power, for a dangerous illness overtook her. When at the point of
death, fearful lest her ring should be worn by another while she was buried and forgotten, Frastrada slipped
the magic circlet into her mouth just before she breathed her last.
Solemn preparations were made to bury her in the cathedral of Mayence (where a stone bearing her name
could still be seen a few years ago), but the emperor refused to part with the beloved body. Neglectful of all
matters of state, he remained in the mortuary chamber day after day. His trusty adviser, Turpin, suspecting the
presence of some mysterious talisman, slipped into the room while the emperor, exhausted with fasting and
weeping, was wrapped in sleep. After carefully searching for the magic jewel, Turpin discovered it, at last, in
the dead queen's mouth.
"He searches with care, though with tremulous haste, For the spell that bewitches the king; And under her
tongue, for security placed, Its margin with mystical characters traced, At length he discovers a ring."
SOUTHEY, King Charlemain.
[Sidenote: Turpin and the magic ring.] To secure this ring and slip it on his finger was but the affair of a
moment; but just as Turpin was about to leave the room the emperor awoke. With a shuddering glance at the
dead queen, Charlemagne flung himself passionately upon the neck of his prime minister, declaring that he
would never be quite inconsolable as long as he was near.
Taking advantage of the power thus secured by the possession of the magic ring, Turpin led Charlemagne
away, forced him to eat and drink, and after the funeral induced him to resume the reins of the government.
But he soon wearied of his master's constant protestations of undying affection, and ardently longed to get rid
of the ring, which, however, he dared neither to hide nor to give away, for fear it should fall into unscrupulous
hands.
Although advanced in years, Turpin was now forced to accompany Charlemagne everywhere, even on his
hunting expeditions, and to share his tent. One moonlight night the unhappy minister stole noiselessly out of
the imperial tent, and wandered alone in the woods, cogitating how to dispose of the unlucky ring. As he
walked thus he came to a glade in the forest, and saw a deep pool, on whose mirrorlike surface the
moonbeams softly played. Suddenly the thought struck him that the waters would soon close over and conceal
the magic ring forever in their depths; and, drawing it from his finger, he threw it into the pond. Turpin then
retraced his steps, and soon fell asleep. On the morrow he was delighted to perceive that the spell was broken,
and that Charlemagne had returned to the old undemonstrative friendship which had bound them for many a
year.
CHAPTER VIII. 64
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