This poem is a curious example of the work of popular imagination upon actual events, and shows, with remarkable unity and originality, the power of this species of transformation.
The historical narrative, as related by Eginhard, son-in-law of Charlemagne, recounts a grievous and unavenged disaster—the complete destruction of the rear-guard of the French army, which, after a succession of victories, was returning from Spain, and, being surprised by mountaineers in the gorges of Roncevaux, left no living witnesses.
But Charlemagne's nephew, Roland, with all his peers, were among the slain; it was needful, therefore, to do honor to his fall, and wash away the affront against the arms of the always victorious king. Grief and admiration combined to accomplish the task, and we have before us the legend, which not only perpetuates the memory of the catastrophe, but which makes of a death-dirge a hymn of victory.
The most ancient manuscript of this poem extant is, without doubt, the copy in the Bodleian library at Oxford, which is supposed to be of the XIIth century. Among other considerations, the brevity of this manuscript as compared with others is a proof of its greater antiquity. It has not more than four thousand lines, whereas others have six, and even eight, thousand. But whether even this is the primitive version, without alteration or addition, we have not the means of knowing.
That which, in the first place, distinguishes the Chanson de Roland from all other productions of the mediæval poets anterior to Dante is its unity of composition; but there are also other noticeable differences. The first is in the subject itself, which is matter of actual history, as we have seen from the testimony of Eginhard, who adds, "This reverse poisoned in the heart of Charles the joy of all the victories which he had gained in Spain." It was not a simple skirmish, but the utter defeat of a valuable portion of his army—the only defeat he had known during the thirty-eight years of his reign. It is easy to understand how profound would be the impression produced by the catastrophe, which, moreover, was indelibly deepened, when, half a century later, the army of one of the sons of Charlemagne, by a fatal coincidence, was cut to pieces in this same defile.
The imagination of the people was not long in merging these two disasters into one, and in gradually changing nearly all the accessory circumstances of the first event. But it matters little that Charles is invested with the imperial purple more than twenty years before the time; that he is represented as a white-bearded patriarch, when, actually, he could not have been more than thirty-five years of age; that his relationship to the hero of Roncevaux is more than doubtful; that the Gascon mountaineers are transformed into Saracens; and that, instead of their chief, Lopez, Duke of Gascony, of whom the charter of Charles the Bald speaks as "a wolf in name and in nature," we have two personages—King Marsilion and the traitor Ganelon. All these transformations, which are easy to be accounted for, alter in nothing the basis of the poem, which is historic truth, while legendary truth has become its surface and superstructure.
Another point to be remarked is that in the Chanson de Roland the subject is national. In other compositions of the period, the heroes are Normans, Provençals, Gascons, and so forth, animated by a patriotism either as circumscribed as their own domain, or as wide as the world which they traversed in search of adventures. In the poems recounting their acts and deeds, the name of France, when it happens to be mentioned, has merely a geographical sense, being used as simply designating the province of which Paris was the capital—"La France," "La douce France," so often invoked in the "Lay of Roland"; and the glow of true and loving patriotism which warms this poem would alone distinguish it from every other chanson de geste that has been written.
The figure of Charlemagne next demands our attention. By a strange contradiction the Carlovingian poems, so called because they glorify the companions of the great emperor and the deeds performed by them during his reign, are, with scarcely any exception, nothing more than so many satires upon Charlemagne himself, who is represented either as a mute and doting imbecile, or else as a capricious despot; all the wisdom and courage of the time being monopolized by the great barons. The reason is not far to seek. At the epoch when these poems were written or "improved," royalty in France was struggling to recover the power of which the great crown vassals had possessed themselves at its expense, and the feudal league defended its acquisitions not by force of arms alone. One of the most effectual means at that period of acting upon the popular mind was by the influence of minstrelsy—that is to say, by poesy and song; and the troubadours and jongleurs of the time willingly gave their services to promote the interests of their more immediate protectors and patrons. Under the name of Charlemagne, it is, in fact, Louis le Gros or Louis le Jeune whom they attack, glorifying his epoch, but depreciating himself, as in "Les Quatre Fils d'Aymon" and similar sarcastic romances. Turold is almost alone in showing us the king "à la barbe grifaigne," with the authority and grandeur befitting so great a monarch, and as one who rises above his peers more by his dignity than by his lofty stature. The knights by whom he is surrounded are noble and valiant, but he surpasses them all.
In this homage rendered to the personal glory of Charlemagne, and in this sentiment of nationality, which is a remnant of the old monarchical unity, of which, in the XIIIth century, the remembrance had long been extinguished, but which, towards the close of the XIth, still existed, we have two characteristics which stamp the date of this poem more unmistakably than could be done by any peculiarities of orthography or versification.
It is marked by two other specialties: the absence of gallantry or amorous allusions, and the austerity of the religious sentiment. Scarcely a line here and there lets us know that Roland has a lady-love. It is his own affair, with which the public has nothing to do. In the whole poem two women only appear, and these only in slightly sketched outline. One is Queen Bramimonde, who appears for an instant, as she unfastens her bracelets, and lets their priceless jewels sparkle temptingly before the eyes of Ganelon; while later on we are again given a passing glimpse of her, first as captive, and then as Christian. In the other, "la belle Aude," the affianced bride of Roland, we have a momentary vision of beauty and faithful devotion even to death. She appears but to die of love and grief too deep for words. A few centuries later, could any French poet have been able to resign so excellent an opportunity for pouring forth a flood of sentimental verses? Even the poets of the XIIIth and XIVth centuries have lengthened out this tempting subject in endless variations.