Part 16

With the Eastern Empire, which might have been stirred to active hostility by the introduction of a rival claimant to the imperial throne, relations continued to be good. Embassies passed from one court to another, and it is reported by a Greek chronicler that Charles transmitted officially to the Empress Irene a proposal that the two empires should be united by their marriage. In 803 the Empress Irene died, after her deposition had been brought about by a palace revolution by which Nicephorus, the Grand Treasurer, was placed on the throne. In 806, for a short time, these peaceful relations were broken by a contention over the possession of Venice, whose commercial importance was beginning to be recognized. A Byzantine fleet appeared off the lagunes, but was unable to prevent the coveted islands from being taken by Pippin, Charles’ representative in Italy, who brought the contest to a close in 810 by a combined attack on sea and land. In 812, as a compensation for acknowledging Charles as Roman Emperor, the Adriatic territories, Venetia, Istria, Liburnia, and Dalmatia, were restored to Byzantine rule.

VI CLOSING YEARS

The period of conquests and warlike expeditions was almost over. One hears of the ravages of Scandinavian pirates, and of marauding incursions by Moorish corsairs along the extended coast line of the Empire. They seem to have remained unpunished, for Charles gave little attention to the development of a navy. In the years from 808 to 810 there were operations on a large scale against a threatened Danish invasion of the Northeastern frontier of the Empire. Some actions of an indecisive character were fought, and the preparation of a fleet sufficient to meet the Danish flotilla of two hundred ships was taken in hand. The prospect, however, of more serious complications was dissolved by a domestic revolution in Denmark, and for the rest of the Emperor’s life peace prevailed between himself and the Danes. As time went on, the actual direction of military operations was left to the Emperor’s two elder sons, Charles and Pippin, who seem, on the whole, to have harmoniously worked together in carrying out their father’s plans.

The enforced inactivity of the Emperor brought forward the need of providing for the future administration of his domains. His eldest son, another Pippin, of illegitimate birth, was not on the list of those from whom the future rulers were to be selected. Years before, in 792, he had been discovered in a plot to dethrone his father, and had been sent to a monastery.

There were now but three heirs to the empire, Louis, in Aquitaine; a younger Pippin, in Italy, and Charles, in Germany, all intrusted with important charges by their father. In 806 a formal document was drawn up regulating the succession. Charles received the countries from whence the Franks had originated, Austrasia along with Neustria, and the East Frankish provinces; the younger brothers were to exercise independent power over the countries they already were administering. Besides this, Pippin was to take Bavaria, and Louis the Provençal districts and the largest parts of Burgundy. Charles directed that his sons should help one another against their enemies, internal and external; he also arranged the roads by which Italy should be approached in case of need, and provisions were made at the same time for securing independence in the fractions of the Empire. Among these dispositions, perhaps the most significant were that no “beneficium,” or assignment of lands, should be made in any of the two divisions, save to individuals who were residents there, and that no man expatriated for his crimes should be received by the ruler of another territory. The inner unity of the three realms and their independence from one another was the master idea of this whole testamentary arrangement. These provisions were made by the Emperor after he had advised with his nobles. They seem to have harmonized with his own sense of justice, and, strangely enough, the ideals of family life predominated in cases where, beyond all other considerations, political acumen should have prevailed. The Emperor relied, so far as the unity of the Empire was concerned, on the loyalty of his sons to his own counsels and to one another.

The plan was soon frustrated by death, for within five years of the date of his division, Pippin and Charles had both died. The Emperor was old, and the question of succession was a more pressing one than ever. It was being discussed with equal interest by friends and foes alike. It must have been also a matter of the profoundest moment to the creator of the Empire, to make such dispositions as would, at least from his own point of view, secure its permanence.

At the end of the summer of 813, Charles, following the precedent of his father and grandfather, drew about him the most important of his officials, and prepared, with their approval, to provide finally for the succession. The disposition was comparatively simple, as only one of the three sons, Louis, who had enjoyed the privilege of Papal recognition, was still alive. He had succeeded, besides, in giving a practical demonstration of his capacity by his successful administration of Aquitaine. Therefore, he seemed entitled to the largest share of his father’s dominions, the only difficulty being to determine the claims of Bernard, the legitimate heir of Pippin. It was, therefore, settled that he should receive Italy, and he was forthwith recognized as its King.

Only one question was now in doubt as to what extent the prerogatives of the imperial dignity should be passed over to the principal heir. This, as it was the creation of the Emperor, seemed to be under his personal control, so he accordingly prepared to make Louis co-Emperor.

The determination of the Emperor to advance his son to the imperial dignity, making him co-ruler with himself, appeared to have been unanticipated by the assembly. They applauded the design and greeted it as an illustration of divine direction. There was no longer any doubt that the central power would continue to exist. Louis was crowned with the diadem by the Emperor himself, and the act was dissociated from the precedent which had been followed in Charles’ own case, so eliminating all question of Papal consent. Rome was not consulted, and Louis was allowed to return home to his own kingdom of Aquitaine. There could no longer, however, be any question as to his ultimately becoming the sole supreme ruler in his father’s stead.

Charles may himself, as a political idealist, have believed that in this transmission he was guaranteeing the permanence of the system he had built up. But even apart from the unfortunate weakness and incapacity of his successor, it is doubtful whether personal rule of this type could have been perpetuated even in the Eastern Empire, with its crystallized traditions, and where an imperial dynasty, with recognized prerogatives and absolutism, endured from age to age. Even in the East there were frequent breaks in the succession.

The long reign was clearly drawing to a close. The Emperor’s physical powers began to fail, and the malady, which proved a fatal one, appeared in alarming symptoms. The Emperor knew of his condition, and had disciplined himself with the common forms of devotion for the approach of death. After a hunting expedition in the autumn of 813 he returned to Aix and soon after had an attack of fever. His ordinary remedies, dieting and the mineral waters of the city, failed to bring relief, and pleurisy set in. Charles died on the morning of the 28th of January, 814, after having received the communion from the hands of his arch-chaplain, Hildebold. His body, after embalmment, was enclosed in an ancient Roman sarcophagus, still existing in Aix, with ornaments in relief which depict the Rape of Proserpine. Above the entrance of the vault containing it was placed this inscription: “Here rests the body of Charles the Great, mighty and orthodox Emperor, who enlarged nobly the realm of the Franks, and for forty-six years governed it with success. He died a septuagenarian, in the year of Our Lord 814, in the 7th indiction on the fifth day before the Kalends of February.”

People told how marvels had foreshadowed the Emperor’s dissolution, how for three days sun and moon were darkened, how the sky was filled by bright, unnatural flashes of light, how the roof of the Basilica at Aix was struck by a thunderbolt, and how the name of the Emperor, “Karolus Princeps,” engraved on a golden crown, suspended in the nave of the building, faded from sight.

Later on, it was reported that the body of Charles had not been placed in a coffin, but that his tomb contained the body of the great ruler sitting upright on his throne, appearing just as he did in life, vested in the imperial robes, a diadem on his head, by his side a sword, his scepter in his hand, reposing with the book of the Gospels on his knees. Otto III was said to have entered the tomb and found the body so placed; but this supposed verification of the legend rests on a mistranslation of the text of an early chronicle.

Folklore soon amplified the career of the great ruler. In the medieval “Gesta,” Charles appears as the brother of the Pope, the represser of disloyal vassals, a crusader and pilgrim to the Holy Land, a warrior of enormous stature, able with one stroke of his sword to cut in two an armed knight on his charger. In other legends he is presented as a famous wise man, the founder of the University of Paris.

The Emperor in person did not resemble the glorified image of him handed down by legend. There was no beard extending to his waist, nor did he wear the magnificent imperial vestments, heavy with precious stones; nor are the other attributes of the imperial dignity seen in his conventional portraits authentic, such, for example, as the scepter, the globe surmounted by a cross, the baton terminating in a knob of incised silver.

According to the most credible accounts, the Emperor was tall; as Einhard puts it, “not more than seven times the length of his foot.” His neck was short, and he was, to use the expressive but inelegant epithet of our ancestors, “pot-bellied.” His head was round, with large, active eyes, a lengthy nose, a large crop of hair, with a mustache, but no beard. His voice, we are told, seemed rather weak for such a large frame. Ordinarily, he was dressed after the Frankish fashion, in a linen shirt and short tunic, to which in winter fur was added; his legs were encased in leather bands; a blue cloak and a sword of expensive workmanship completed his out-of-door wardrobe. On ceremonial occasions he wore a diadem, adorned with precious stones, and when he was in Rome he conformed to local custom by wearing the chlamys, a long Roman tunic.

Charles was four times married. After his repudiation of the daughter of Desiderius, his wives were Hildegarde, Fastrada, and Liutgarda. The offspring of these various marriages were three sons, Charles, Pippin, and Louis, the children of Hildegarde; and five daughters, Rothruda, Bertha, Giselda, Theodrada, and Hiltruda. The girls were carefully trained in the various arts of domestic economy, and we are told, too, that in addition to skill in preparing stuffs for wearing apparel, they showed great interest in collecting for purposes of self-adornment “gold ornaments and many precious stones.” These unusual maidens proved such valuable adjuncts to the household that their father refused to permit them to marry, with the result that three became abbesses, while two contracted irregular alliances. Rothruda secretly married Count Rovigo, and Bertha, the poet, Angilbert.

Life at court was anything but austere; even the Emperor himself could not be accused of being overscrupulous in his morals, for after the death of Liutgarda, in 800, he contracted several irregular alliances. Charles was fond of traveling; undoubtedly economic and political reasons may account for the number of royal residences. But his favorite seat was at Aix, which attracted him on account of its mineral springs. Here, in a cluster of buildings, secular and ecclesiastical, of his own creation, he was able to gratify his own tastes in amusements, which were swimming and hunting. He was fond of festivities, and liked to live surrounded by his large family, who helped him to enjoy the good cheer of his table and entered sympathetically into the natural atmosphere of a court which was without stiff convention, and which preserved in its naïve unconstrainedness the tastes of a great Teutonic tribal chieftain. But, while the wines, the abundant amount of solid food and numerous dishes of pastry, were well appreciated, there was serious conversation, and an opportunity was given to the “littérateurs” of the court to show their skill in verse or repartee. The Emperor himself reverenced learning, but his own education was anything but advanced, even for his own day. His intellectual interests were varied, theological speculation being especially attractive to him. He was fond of singing, and he spoke easily, clearly, and with an abundant diction. He knew Latin, and understood, too, a little Greek. When he was of adult age he studied rhetoric, logic, and astronomy. He liked to have the ancient historians read to him when he was at table, but his favorite book was St. Augustine’s “City of God.” Affable and easily approached, his guests found him personally interested in their affairs; he had a happy way of saying the right thing at the right time, but he was fully conscious that his position as Roman Emperor made him a successor of the Cæsars, and he never forgot that the religious consecration of the Church placed him, in a mystic sense, in the sacred line of David and of Solomon.

VII THE CONSTITUTION OF THE EMPIRE

Though we speak of an empire founded by Charles the Great, the use of the word should not be allowed to lead us astray into comparisons or analogies based on merely verbal resemblances. Charles was not an emperor of the type known to the Roman Empire of the classic Christian period, nor as a ruler can he be compared with Russian Czars or Napoleon the First. Neither as king nor as emperor was Charles an absolute monarch. Both before and after the assumption of the more exalted title, the association of personal rule with the leadership of the armed host of the Frankish nation was so close and intimate that the ruler was not to be separated from the source of his authority. The house of the Karlings could not claim the kind of sanction given to the Merovingian princes, who were the hereditary rulers of the Franks.

When the power of the tribal kingship was broken, the Carolingian house took first the leadership of the armed Frankish host, and then the title of King; but they did so through, and with the consent of, the nation of the Franks. The Karlings were not true successors of the Merovingians. Their royal dignity had quite a different character; it did not rest on birth and custom, or the traditional reverence which comes from ancient and long recognized rights of succession. The army of the Franks gave the directorship over their nation to the father and grandfather of Charles, but the source of this authority remained with and through the army. The leader of the Franks, whether called king or emperor, ruled his own people, and the territory he gained, by the consent of the army of the Franks. Charles Martel divided his territories at his death, but he asked the army’s consent, and when Pippin was crowned by the Pope, the act was again ratified by the army.

In the early years of Charles’ own reign, it was the wish of the Franks that they should be guided by one ruler, not by two, and in all but one of the conquests of Charles, the principle that some portion at least of the annexed nation should ask him to be their overlord was accepted. Even in the case of the Saxons, where the resistance to the Franks was universal and unanimous, the purpose of Charles was not a personal conquest of a people to be governed afterwards as dependents under an absolute ruler. Rather, as Einhard expresses it, “that united with the Franks they might along with them be made one people.” This declaration in itself explains the character of the empire founded by Charles. The closest analogy to it is to be found in the Ostrogothic kingdom of Theodoric; the difference being that Theodoric sought for allies among the independent tribal Germanic kingdoms, while the aim of Charles meant absorption of these kingdoms under the one ruling race of the Franks.

This principle is perfectly illustrated in the treatment of the Saxons after their conquest; the moment they accepted the rule of the Franks they were admitted on an equality with the Franks into the regular meetings of the armed host of the Frankish nation, and along with their conquerors took part in its legislative work. These primitive popular assemblies had originated as the Merovingian dynasty was drawing to its close, when it was realized that the people must provide for their own concerns because of the failure of the ruling house to govern efficiently or successfully. They were held generally in May at a royal villa or palace in the Rhine Valley, Aix, Worms, or Mainz. In theory every Frank was supposed to be present. Actually, only the great lords and the high ecclesiastics were at hand, and their followers stood for the people.

Only the most important personages were admitted to the deliberations. The laymen present were separated from the clergy, but sometimes the two orders sat together and went over in detail the measures prepared for them beforehand. Sometimes this process lasted several days. These informal sessions were visited by the Emperor, who passed among those present, talking familiarly to them, and asking questions as to the happenings and needs of the neighborhoods from whence they came. Outside the building were gathered a crowd of followers and retainers.

The Emperor, after taking the advice of his chief subjects, made his decisions, and the result was communicated to the people for their consent. This last act had become apparently a simple matter of form. The question submitted to the assembly had been prepared long in advance either by the immediate council at the palace, or by the autumn assembly, a body organized by Charles himself, which, when the matter was urgent, decided on questions of peace and war.

While nothing is known of the character of the deliberations of this smaller body, it is clear that measures, already settled by them, were brought before the May assembly, and so presented that the decisions taken earlier could be guessed. There were various names given to this larger body or general assembly, according to the character of the business that came before it,--conventus, placitum, synodus,--whether judicial, legislative, or ecclesiastic. It was a council of war and an executive cabinet; it was also a court of highest instance, a ministry of foreign affairs and of public worship.

At the assembly the members, great and small, made their fiscal contributions to the prince. The same vagueness, indicative of a crude and undeveloped stage of government, is seen in the legislative acts of the assembly, which appeared in the shape of what are technically called “capitularies.” Analyzing them from the modern point of view, Guizot reckoned that there were of criminal or civil legislation, 273 items; of moral and religious, 172, and that of these, one hundred dealt with matters of canon law. The only distinction made by Charles himself in the capitularies was that some were new measures and were to be added to legislation already accepted, while others were to be used for the guidance of the higher imperial officials. The first class was valid only for the duration of the reign of the sovereign under whom they were passed. The last, for a year, but the additions to laws already existing had no time limitation.

These capitularies were not intended to supersede national or tribal custom and law. Each man was judged according to the laws of his own people, and in 802 the Emperor directed that the unwritten laws of the peoples under his rule should be collected. The capitularies were, therefore, supplemental and corrective to the national codes. For example, one of them, which, by the way, met such strong opposition that the Emperor was obliged to yield the point, was intended to remove the abuse of private vengeance.

Local administration was in the hands of the counts, and, as in the Merovingian period, the administrative unit was the county. Altogether throughout the whole Empire, there were three hundred counts; the districts which they administered varied in size, the authority exercised by them being judicial, military, and financial. Along with the count and closely associated with him is the bishop. As there was in the capitularies so much which concerned the sphere of the Church, the coöperation, in their official publication, of the bishop with the count was not unnatural. Moreover, in the Empire, in addition to purely religious duties, the bishop had the function of investigating certain categories of crime, homicides, incest, etc., and in a general way, he acted as adviser of the count.

Among the count’s duties was that of defending the Church and, in trials for ecclesiastical offenses, he had to be present informally as assessor. The coöperation of the civil and ecclesiastical authorities strongly appealed to the Emperor, with his ideals of a Christian commonwealth; but in experience, the association of the bishop and the count, as local administrators, worked far from smoothly. So a capitulary of 801 mentions the Emperor’s purpose to find out the reasons why bishops and abbots, on the one hand, and counts, on the other, are not able to assist one another.

The problem of defining the limits of the secular and religious spheres gave rise to constant difficulties, and the situation was further aggravated by the fact that in many cases the counts seemed inefficient and venal. They had to be warned not to hang offenders without trial, to be sober when they were sitting in judgment, not to receive presents, not to oppress freemen, not to usurp the right which belonged to the state, not to take the goods of the poor. Once a year the counts were summoned to the royal palace, and they were required to remain there long enough to lay before the Emperor a detailed record of their administration.

A special power of review over the counts was given to the “missi,”--a class of officials existing under the Merovingian Kings, but with power extended and regularized by Charles, especially after 802. The whole Empire was divided into “missatica”--the divisions under a “missus,” which included several counties. For example, Western France made three of these divisions with centers at Paris, Rouen, and Orléans. The “missi,” who were generally a count and a cleric, an abbot or bishop, made a general visitation of their district for a period lasting over a year, according to a fixed itinerary. They were expected to see that the royal authority was respected, by exacting a detailed oath of fidelity from all the inhabitants, and to take care that no one occupied the royal domain of forest or appropriated the royal revenue. They looked after the application of the directions contained in the capitularies, noted the general condition of law and order, saw that justice was done, and the rules of military service strictly carried out.

Much stress was laid on their judicial functions; when they arrived in a town they set up their court in the public place; the local bishop and count had to be in attendance, while the “missi” heard complaints and altered whatever judgments of the local officers seemed contrary to right and equity.