they saw the scene itself; probably they had seen it every year, more or less, since they could swing a sword.  Taillefer chanted the death of Oliver and of Archbishop Turpin and all the other barons of the rear guard, except Roland, who was left for dead by the Saracens when they fled on hearing the horns of Charlemagne’s returning host.  Roland came back to consciousness on feeling a Saracen marauder tugging at his sword Durendal.  With a blow of his ivory horn—­oliphant—­he killed the pagan; then feeling death near, he prepared for it.  His first thought was for Durendal, his sword, which he could not leave to infidels.  In the singular triple repetition which gives more of the same solidity and architectural weight to the verse, he made three attempts to break the sword, with a lament—­a plaint—­for each.  Three times he struck with all his force against the rock; each time the sword rebounded without breaking.  The third time—­

Rollanz ferit en une pierre bise
 Plus en abat que jo ne vus sai dire. 
 L’espee cruist ne fruisset ne ne briset
 Cuntre le ciel amunt est resortie. 
 Quant veit li quens que ne la fraindrat mie
 Mult dulcement la plainst a sei meisme. 
 “E!  Durendal cum ies bele e saintisme! 
 En l’oret punt asez i ad reliques. 
 La dent saint Pierre e del sanc seint Basilie
 E des chevels mun seignur seint Denisie
 Del vestment i ad seinte Marie. 
 Il nen est dreiz que paien te baillisent. 
 De chrestiens devez estre servie. 
 Ne vus ait hum ki facet cuardie! 
 Mult larges terres de vus averai cunquises
 Que Carles tient ki la barbe ad flurie. 
 E li emperere en est e ber e riches.”

Roland strikes on a grey stone,
 More of it cuts off than I can tell you. 
 The sword grinds, but shatters not nor breaks,
 Upward against the sky it rebounds. 
 When the Count sees that he can never break it,
 Very gently he mourns it to himself: 
 “Ah, Durendal, how fair you are and sacred! 
 In your golden guard are many relics,
 The tooth of Saint Peter and blood of Saint Basil,
 And hair of my seigneur Saint-Denis,
 Of the garment too of Saint Mary. 
 It is not right that pagans should own you. 
 By Christians you should be served,
 Nor should man have you who does cowardice. 
 Many wide lands by you I have conquered
 That Charles holds, who has the white beard,
 And emperor of them is noble and rich.”

This “laisse” is even more eleventh-century than the other, but it appealed no longer to the warriors; it spoke rather to the monks.  To the warriors, the sword itself was the religion, and the relics were details of ornament or strength.  To the priest, the list of relics was more eloquent than the Regent diamond on the hilt and the Kohinoor on the scabbard.  Even to us it is interesting if it is understood.  Roland had gone on pilgrimage to the Holy Land.  He had stopped at Rome and won the friendship of Saint