Title: The Song of Roland Author: Anonymous (attributed to Turoldus) Creation Date: c. 1100 Location: France
Summary
The oldest surviving major work of French literature recounts the ambush and destruction of Charlemagne's rearguard at Roncevaux Pass in 778 CE. Roland, the emperor's nephew and greatest knight, commands the rearguard through the treachery of his stepfather Ganelon. When the Saracen army attacks, Roland's companion Oliver urges him to blow his horn (the olifant) to summon Charlemagne's main force, but Roland refuses out of pride and honour. The rearguard is slaughtered to a man. Roland finally blows the horn as he dies, Charlemagne returns to destroy the Saracen army, and Ganelon is tried and executed for treason.
Why This Book Matters
The Song of Roland is the founding text of French literature and the supreme example of the chanson de geste tradition that shaped medieval European culture. It crystallised the ideology of the Crusades — the poem transforms a minor Basque ambush into a cosmic struggle between Christendom and Islam — and established the chivalric values (prowess, loyalty, faith, honour) that would define European aristocratic culture for centuries. Roland's fatal refusal to call for help became the archetype of heroic excess, the noble flaw that elevates a warrior into legend. The poem essentially invented the narrative of Christian Europe as a martial civilisation.
Historical Context
Composed around the time of the First Crusade (1095-1099), the poem reframes an 8th-century skirmish against Basque mountaineers as an epic battle against Muslim forces, reflecting the Crusading mentality of its own era. Feudal society is the poem's oxygen: every relationship is defined by lord and vassal, every conflict is ultimately about the bonds of loyalty and the catastrophe of betrayal. The poem circulated orally, performed by jongleurs, and the surviving Oxford manuscript (c. 1170) is likely one version of a much larger oral tradition.
Literary Significance
The Song of Roland established the conventions of medieval epic in the West: the laisse (strophic verse paragraph), formulaic repetition, battlefield catalogues, and the heroic death scene. Its technique of "paratactic" storytelling — events placed side by side without explicit causal connection — creates a stark, monumental style quite different from classical epic. The poem's emotional power centres on the tension between Roland's sublime stubbornness and its catastrophic consequences, a moral ambiguity the poem never fully resolves.
Research Notes
Included as the essential French medieval epic and a counterpart to Beowulf in the Germanic tradition. The poem is short enough to read in a sitting and accessible to modern readers despite its alien value system. It pairs well with Njal's Saga as a contrasting vision of medieval heroic culture — feudal Christian versus free-farmer Norse. Chosen over the Nibelungenlied, which covers overlapping thematic territory but is less foundational to its national tradition.
The Reading
Charles the king, our great emperor, has been seven full years in the land of Spain. He has conquered the high country down to the sea. There is no castle that stands against him now, no wall unbroken, no city untaken — save Saragossa, which sits upon a mountain. Saragossa is held by King Marsile, who loves not God, who serves Muhammad and prays to Apollin. Evil shall not stay from him; soon enough it will find him out. AOI.
King Marsile is in Saragossa. He calls his dukes and his counts. "My lords, Charles the king of sweet France has come to confound us. I have no host to give him battle. Counsel me." Not a pagan answers him a word, save Blancandrin of Castel de Valfunde. AOI.
Blancandrin spoke to the king. "Send word to Charles. Send him bears and lions and dogs, seven hundred camels, a thousand moulted hawks, four hundred mules of gold and silver, fifty wagons for his train. Swear that on the feast of Saint Michael you will follow him to Aix and be christened and become his man. Give him hostages — our own sons, though they go to die. Better their heads should fall than we lose holy Spain." AOI.
Charles the king is in great joy. He has taken Cordoba; with his catapults he has thrown down her towers. There is no pagan left in the city who is not slain or made Christian. The emperor sits in a great orchard. Beside him are Roland and Oliver his companion, Duke Samson, Anseis the proud, Geoffrey of Anjou the king's gonfalonier, and Gerin and Gerer his companion. Fifteen thousand of the men of France are with him. AOI.
The Saracen envoys come with olive branches in their hands. They give Marsile's message. Charles bows his head and ponders long. He is never one to speak in haste. He calls his barons. "The pagan king swears he will follow me to Aix and hold his lands of me. But I know not what is in his heart. Counsel me." AOI.
Roland the count rose from his place. "Trust not Marsile. Seven years we have been in Spain. Marsile has played the traitor before. He sent envoys with olive branches once before, and by your counsel you sent two of your counts to him, Basan and Basile, and he struck off their heads in the hills below Haltille. Lead your host to Saragossa. Lay siege, though it last all your life." Charles bowed his head and pulled his beard. To his nephew, neither good nor ill did he answer. AOI.
Then Ganelon rose. He was a noble baron of great stature, fair of body, bold of face. Had he been loyal, he had been counted among the best. "Trust not these hot-heads. Marsile will become your man and receive our faith. He that would refuse this peace cares little what death we die. Counsel of pride is not worth a glove." AOI.
The Franks said: "Ganelon has spoken well." The emperor said: "Whom shall I send to King Marsile?" Count Roland answered: "I will go gladly." "You will not go," said Oliver his companion. "Your heart is too fierce. I myself will go, if the king consent." The king said: "Hold your peace, both of you. By this beard you see grown white, none of the Twelve Peers shall be chosen." AOI.
Roland the count spoke up. "Then let it be Ganelon, my stepfather." The Franks said: "He can do it well. You will not send a wiser man." Ganelon heard this, and grief came upon him. He stood up in his silken bliaut. He said to Roland: "Mad fool, why is this rage upon you? It is known I am your stepfather, and yet you have named me to Marsile. If God grant my return, I will work upon you such a feud as shall last till the end of your days." Roland began to laugh. AOI.
Ganelon rode the road to Saragossa, Blancandrin beside him. Cunning man spoke with cunning man. They took counsel together by the way, how they should bring Roland to his death. They came before King Marsile beneath an olive tree. After fair speeches and pretended quarrels, the bargain was struck. Ganelon spoke: "Charles will leave Spain at last. He will set Roland his nephew to command the rearguard, with the Twelve Peers and twenty thousand Franks. Fall upon them in the passes of Cizre with your host. Slay Roland, and you cut from Charles his right arm. The proud army of France will be his no more, and you shall have peace for ever." King Marsile kissed Ganelon upon the cheek and gave him gifts — a sword, a helm, jewels, the bracelets of his queen. So was the treason sealed. AOI.
Charles the king has set forth from Spain. He rides homeward through the high passes. The rearguard is given to Roland the count, by counsel of Ganelon his stepfather. With Roland goes Oliver his companion. With them rides Archbishop Turpin, who can sing the mass and strike a blow. With them ride the Twelve Peers of France: Gerin and Gerer, Berenger, Anseis, Samson, Engelier of Gascony born at Bordeaux, Ivon and Ivory, Othon and Astor, and Gerard of Roussillon the old. Twenty thousand Franks ride at their back. AOI.
Oliver climbs upon a high hill. He looks into a grassy valley. He sees the pagan host coming. He calls to Roland his companion: "From the side of Spain I see a great brightness. Many a white hauberk shines, many a helm flames. Ganelon has done this thing — the traitor who named us to the rearguard." Roland said: "Hold your peace. He is my stepfather. Speak no word of him." AOI.
Oliver saw all the kingdom of the Saracens gathered — helms of gold, shields of gems, spears many, gonfalons of every colour. He cannot count their squadrons. He came down to his men. "Lords of France, may God give you strength. Hold your ground, that we be not overthrown." The Franks answered: "Cursed be he who flees. There is not one of us shall fail you for fear of death." AOI.
Oliver said: "Companion Roland, sound now your olifant. Charles will hear it. The host will turn back to us." Roland answered: "I should be mad to do so. In sweet France I should lose my fair name. With Durendal I will strike great blows. Bloody to the gold hilt shall my sword be. The felon pagans came to these passes in evil hour. I swear it — they are all marked for death." AOI.
"Companion Roland, sound your olifant. Charles will hear it. He and his barons will come to our aid." Roland answered: "God forbid that fair France should fall into shame. With Durendal I shall strike on. You shall see the blade bloody from edge to hilt. The pagans are all marked for death." AOI.
"Companion Roland, sound your olifant. Charles will hear it as he passes the gorges. The Franks shall return at once." "God forbid," Roland answered, "that any living man should say that for pagans I sounded my horn. When I am in the battle, I shall strike a thousand blows and seven hundred more. Nothing can save the men of Spain from death." AOI.
Roland is brave, and Oliver is wise. Both are wondrous men of arms. Once they are upon their horses, never for fear of death will they leave the battle. AOI.
Now is the day far gone. Battle is joined in the pass of Roncevaux. The Franks strike like vassals. The pagans fall in heaps. Roland strikes with Durendal his good sword, that Charles received from an angel and gave to him. Within its hilt are kept many holy relics — a tooth of Saint Peter, blood of Saint Basil, hair of my lord Saint Denis, raiment of the Virgin Mary. Oliver strikes with Halteclere, his sword bright as crystal. Turpin strikes great blows, and shrives the dying with his other hand. The Twelve Peers fight as lions among hounds. Spears shatter. Shields split. Hauberks are torn. Men are cloven from skull to saddle. AOI.
Engelier the Gascon of Bordeaux is dead. Gerin and Gerer his companion are dead. Berenger is slain, and Othon and Anseis. Samson the duke is dead. Gerard of Roussillon the old is dead. One by one each peer falls. Roland counts them as a shepherd counts a lost flock. He says to Oliver: "Companion, see how many good vassals lie about us on the ground. Pity it is for sweet France, that she is widowed of such barons. Charles, fair king, why are you not here? Brother Oliver, how shall we send him word?" Oliver answered: "I know not how to bid him. Better to die than fall into shame." AOI.
Roland said: "I will sound the olifant. Charles will hear it as he passes the gorges. The Franks shall return at once." Oliver said: "Great would be the shame of it, and the reproach to all your kin. When I spoke to you of it, you would have none of it. Now you shall sound it without my blessing. Companion, you have brought us to this pass." But Turpin the archbishop said: "Sound it, Roland. It will save no man — we are all of us doomed. But Charles will come, and he will avenge us, and the men of Spain shall not depart rejoicing." So Roland set the horn to his lips, and he blew. AOI.
Roland sets the olifant to his mouth. He grasps it well. With great strength he sounds it. High are the mountains, and far the call of the horn. For thirty long leagues the echo of it is heard. From his mouth the bright blood leaps out. The temples of his head burst. Charles hears it as he passes the gorge. Duke Naimon hears it. The king says: "I hear Roland's horn. Never would he sound it but he were in battle." Ganelon answers: "There is no battle. You are old, your hair white as flowers. You know Roland's pride — he blows his horn all day for a single hare. Ride on. Far before us lies our great land." AOI.
The Count Roland's mouth is bloody. The temples of his head are broken. He sounds the olifant in dolour and in pain. The king says: "Long is the breath of that horn." Duke Naimon answers: "A brave man labours at it. There is battle, by my own faith. He who would betray you bids you stay your hand. Take up your arms. Cry your war-cry. Succour your gentle household." AOI.
The emperor caused his trumpets to sound. The Franks dismount and arm themselves with hauberks and helms and swords adorned with gold. Their gonfalons are white and red and blue. The barons mount their warhorses. They spur through the passes. There is not a man among them who does not say: "If we see Roland before he is slain, we shall strike great blows beside him." But what use are their words? They have delayed too long. AOI.
Now is the Count Oliver wounded to the death. His sight is gone with the blood that runs into his eyes. He swings about him with Halteclere. He strikes Roland upon his helmet of gold. Roland looks upon him, gently asks: "Sir companion, did you mean to do this? I am Roland, who loves you so dearly. You sent me no challenge." Oliver answered: "Now I hear you speak. I see you not. Have I struck you? Pardon me." Roland said: "I am not hurt. I pardon you here and before God." At this word each leaned upon the other. With such love, they parted. AOI.
Oliver feels the pang of death upon him. His two eyes are turned in his head. He has lost his hearing and all his sight. He dismounts. He lies down upon the ground. Aloud he confesses his sins. With both hands joined, he stretches them to heaven. He prays that God grant him paradise, that He bless Charles and fair France, and Roland his companion above all men. His heart fails him. His helm bows on his head. His body falls upon the earth. The Count is dead. Roland weeps and mourns. Never on earth shall you hear a more grieving man. AOI.
Turpin the archbishop, his chest pierced with four spears, draws himself upon his feet. He looks upon Roland. He runs to him. "While the breath is in him, a good vassal never yields." He took his keys and his cross. He went among the dead Franks, blessing each one, commending them to God. Then he fell, his arms crossed, and rendered his soul. AOI.
The Count Roland sees the archbishop dead. He gathers the bodies of the Twelve Peers. He lays them in a row before Turpin. Roland weeps. He himself feels death rising in him. He climbs upon a hill. He turns his face toward Spain — toward the enemy, that men should say of him, the Count died as a conqueror. He takes Durendal his sword. He strikes a great rock of sardonyx. The steel grates; neither breaks nor chips. He strikes a stone of grey marble. It cracks asunder. Durendal is whole. He laments over his sword: "Ah, Durendal, fair and holy, how many relics are within your hilt — a tooth of Saint Peter, blood of Saint Basil, hair of my lord Saint Denis, raiment of holy Mary. It were great pity that pagans should hold you. May God see to it that France be not shamed." He strikes a third time. The blade rings out, and is not broken. AOI.
The Count Roland lies down beneath a pine tree. Toward Spain he turns his face. Many things come to his mind — the great lands he has conquered, sweet France, the men of his kindred, Charles his lord, who nourished him. He cannot keep from sighing and weeping. But he would not be unmindful of his own soul. He prays God's mercy. "True Father, who never lied, who raised Lazarus from the dead, who saved Daniel from the lions, save my soul from every peril, and from the sins of my life." He has offered to God his right glove. Saint Gabriel has taken it from his hand. Upon his arm his head is bowed. With folded hands he has gone to his end. God sent down his cherubim, and Saint Michael of the Peril of the Sea, and with them Saint Gabriel. The soul of the Count they bore to paradise. AOI.
Charles came at last to the field of Roncevaux. There is no track he does not find heaped with the dead. He cries: "Where are you, fair nephew? Where the archbishop? Where Count Oliver? Where Gerin and Gerer his companion? Engelier of Gascony, what have I made of you? Samson the duke, Anseis the proud, Gerard of Roussillon the old — the Twelve Peers I left here?" None could answer him. The king tears his white beard. He swoons upon Roland's body. Duke Naimon and Geoffrey of Anjou and Acelin and Tierri bear him up and prop him against a pine. AOI.
The host of Charles pursued the Saracens. The sun was sinking. The king prayed: "Stay, sun, for me, as once you stayed for Joshua." The angel answered: "Charles, ride on, the light shall not fail you." The sun stood still. The Franks drove the pagans into the Ebro. The river was deep, the current strong, their armour bore them under. Not one was saved. AOI.
The Emir Baligant came up from Babylon with the hosts of forty kings to succour Marsile his vassal. Now is the second battle joined upon the plain. Two emperors, two faiths meet body to body. Charles is bowed under a great blow. Then Gabriel comes and says: "Great king, what do you?" The king takes heart. He strikes with Joyeuse his sword, that bears within its pommel the lance-tip that pierced our Lord. Through helm and hauberk and skull he strikes. Baligant falls dead. The pagans fly. Saragossa is taken. AOI.
Bramimonde, the queen of Marsile, is taken to fair France. She is not converted by force. By love alone shall she be made a Christian. The king commands it so. AOI.
At Aix is held the trial of Ganelon. He is brought before the assembled barons. He does not deny the deed. "Roland wronged me in gold and in goods. I sought his death, and the death of Oliver. I had defied him before all the host. This is feud, not treason." Thirty of his kinsmen stand surety for him. Pinabel of Sorence is their champion. For Charles steps forth Thierry, brother of Geoffrey of Anjou, a slight man, hollow of cheek. They mount and ride at each other. They strike. They fall. They rise on foot. They strike with naked swords. Pinabel cleaves Thierry's helm. Thierry strikes Pinabel through the head. Pinabel falls. Pinabel is dead. So has God judged. AOI.
Ganelon is bound. Four warhorses are brought, the swiftest in the land. To each one a limb is fastened. The grooms drive the horses across the meadow. Ganelon is torn. His sinews snap, his bones break. He died as a felon must die. Of his thirty kinsmen, not one is spared. They are hanged upon a tree. AOI.
Night comes upon Aix. The emperor goes to his chamber. Saint Gabriel comes to him from God. "Charles, summon the hosts of your empire. You shall go into the land of Bire. You shall succour King Vivien at Imphe, the city the pagans have besieged. The Christians cry out to you and call." The emperor would not go. He says: "God, how weary is my life." He weeps from his eyes. He pulls at his white beard. AOI.
This post is part of Civilisations, a 149-book chronological journey through world literature. See the full collection →
Two translations are recommended for The Song of Roland. Glyn Burgess's Penguin Classics prose translation (1990) is clear, accurate, and well-introduced — the best modern entry point. Dorothy L. Sayers's verse translation (1957) captures the poem's driving rhythmic energy with the authority of a scholar who also happened to be a master prose stylist.
Translated by Glyn S. Burgess. The best modern prose translation, with an excellent introduction on the poem's historical and literary context.
Translated by Dorothy L. Sayers. A verse translation with the rhythmic momentum of the original, from one of the twentieth century's finest literary scholars.
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