him at St Martins in Tours, making Acelin of Rouen, son of
Richard, Emperor. William makes straight for Tours, prevails on the
castellan of the gate-fortress to let him in, kicks--literally
kicks--the monks out of their abbey, and rescues Louis. He then kills
Acelin, violently maltreats his father, and rapidly traverses the
whole of France, reducing the malcontents.

Peace having been for the time restored at home, William returns to
Rome, where many things have happened. The Pope and Galafre are dead,
the princess, though she is faithful to William, has other suitors,
and there is a fresh invasion, not this time of heathen Asiatics, but
led by Guy of Germany. The Count of Orange forces Louis (who behaves
in a manner justifying the rebels) to accompany him with a great army
to Rome, defeats the Germans, takes his _faineant_ emperor's part in a
single combat with Guy, and is again victorious. Nor, though he has
to treat his pusillanimous sovereign in an exceedingly cavalier
fashion, does he fail to have Louis crowned again as Emperor of Rome.
A fresh rebellion breaking out in France, he again subdues it; and
strengthens the tottering house of Charles Martel by giving his own
sister Blanchefleur to the chicken-hearted king.

"En grant barnage fu Looys entrez;
Quant il fu riche, Guillaume n'en sot gre,"

ends the poem with its usual laconism.

[Sidenote: _Comments on the_ Couronnement.]

There is, of course, in this story an element of rough comedy,
approaching horse-play, which may not please all tastes. This element,
however, is very largely present in the _chansons_ (though it so
happens, yet once more, that _Roland_ is accidentally free from it),
and it is especially obvious in the particular branch or _geste_ of
William with the Short Nose, appearing even in the finest and longest
of the subdivisions, _Aliscans_, which some have put at the head of
the whole. In fact, as we might expect, the _esprit gaulois_ can
seldom refrain altogether from pleasantry, and its pleasantry at this
time is distinctly "the humour of the stick." But still the poem is a
very fine one. Its ethical opening is really noble: the picture of the
Court at Aix has grandeur, for all its touches of simplicity; the
fighting is good; the marriage scene and its fatal interruption (for
we hear nothing of the princess on William's second visit to Rome)
give a dramatic turn: and though there is no fine writing, there is a
refreshing directn