It was an event of extraordinary significance. It was not a mere spectacle or a comedy planned by Leo for purposes of deception, as some historians have asserted. Charlemagne would never have consented to such mummery; for he was a giant not only in body but in soul, and was always swayed by lofty purpose. He regarded the ceremony performed that day in the Vatican as one of serious moment. It is not conceivable that Pope Leo conferred this extraordinary honor upon his rescuer merely for his own advantage. Charlemagne had always shown that he felt he was called upon to exert all his power for the strengthening and extension of Christianity.
It must be taken into consideration that at that period hardly a fourth of Europe had been converted; that the Christian world in the south was threatened by the Mohammedans, in the north by the heathen Normans, and in the east by the Slavs and other pagans. From the earliest times the Eastern emperors had made claims upon Italy, and the Pope had not been protected until Pepin and Charlemagne appeared. Considering these things, and the dangerous situation, can anyone blame Leo for proclaiming the Frankish King, who had saved him before all the world, as the all-powerful champion of Christendom, and for conferring upon him a title which would impress all people as the commemoration of a great deed? It was this last consideration which induced Charlemagne to accept the title. He detested all outward display. Wherever he went he wore his plain military costume, but when he represented the people upon public occasions he did not despise show. He never underestimated the effect of personal appearance upon the people, and he well knew what the effect of this title would be. It was full of meaning to the people; but its significance to him was the completion of the great mission he had contemplated. As to the motives actuating him, M. Carrière well says:
“Charlemagne made the deeds and achievements of his grandfather and father the foundation of a lofty historical work. His soul was exalted with the ideal of a Roman empire and Christian German nation. Henceforth he devoted all his energies to the work of uniting the Germans in one organic whole. He brought not only Bavaria, but Saxony under German authority. From the Eider to the Tiber, from the Ebro to the Drau, his authority was absolute. When the Pope placed the imperial crown upon his head, it was the symbol of the work of culture the Germans would carry on in Rome, and a token that the new city should be a Christian city, representing God’s Kingdom on earth.”
Chapter VIII
Victories of Peace
It seems almost incredible that a prince who was obliged to undertake so many and such prolonged campaigns—that against the Saxons alone requiring twenty-six expeditions—could have had any opportunity to engage in works of peace. The question must arise how he found the time, or the opportunity, or the encouragement for other operations than those of a warlike nature.
Succeeding events will supply the answer. From the point of view of his wars, the Emperor has been called a conqueror; but when we come to consider his peace achievements and his creative ability, it will be shown that he had a still clearer right to that appellation. It will also clearly reveal his ideals of sovereignty, and we shall recognize the propriety of the title history has accorded him.
First of all, let us consider the place which was the favorite resort of the Emperor during the last twenty years of his life. He lived at Aix-la-Chapelle nearly all the time when he was not in the field. Its gently sloping heights, spurs of the Eifel and Ardennes, at that time densely wooded, enclosed a fruitful valley. A royal palace stood there in Pepin’s time; and even if Charlemagne was not born there, as is sometimes asserted, yet it is certain that he spent the most of his boyhood amid these scenes.
Bathing was one of his favorite pleasures, and many a time he breasted the blue waves of the Rhine. The warm mineral baths at Aix-la-Chapelle were his especial delight. There were also thickly wooded spots in the vicinity which attracted him. He was as fond of hunting as of bathing, even in his last years; and his retainers, as well as his beautiful and buxom daughters, often joined him in the hunt, and chased the buffaloes and wild boars to the clang of horns and the baying of hounds. All great human personages excite the imagination of those who come under their influence; and the popular fancy is fond of weaving stories about them which help to reveal their true character. One of these legends concerns the baths at Aix-la-Chapelle.
At Charlemagne’s palace in Mainz there was a bell which was said to ring whenever any danger was threatened. Charlemagne heard its clang one day and sent a messenger to ascertain the cause. He found that a snake had coiled itself around the rope and was the bell-ringer. The snake led the messenger to its nest, where a noxious toad was found squatting upon the snake’s eggs. He drove the toad away and then informed the Emperor of the curious event. Charlemagne’s astonishment was further increased when the snake suddenly appeared in the hall, wriggled along to his table, ascended it, dropped a sparkling jewel which it carried in its jaws into a wine glass, and then quickly disappeared. The magic stone, upon which swan and runic symbols were engraved, had mysterious properties. Whoever received the gift became the object of the passionate adoration of the giver. Charlemagne placed the stone in a ring and sent it to his beloved wife Fastrada. Immediately he became more closely attached to her than ever before. He could not be away from her. When her death removed her from his side, he was overcome with grief. Her body was placed in an open coffin in the Cathedral, and the Emperor spent his time there and would not suffer it to be buried. The people whispered among themselves, “The Emperor’s mind is affected by his love for Fastrada. What will become of his crown and country if this grief continues?” In this emergency the pious Turpin had a dream which suggested a method of deliverance. He rose from his bed, donned his clothes, and hastened to the Cathedral. It was apparently empty. Before the altar there was a lofty sarcophagus, upon which the Empress rested. Round about it upon the floor lay a band of paladins garbed as penitents. In front of the sarcophagus stood the Emperor weeping, with his head resting upon the coffin. Turpin ascended the steps. He gently raised Fastrada’s ermine covering, seized the hand so long cold, and quietly removed the ring; whereupon the paladins, who had been kneeling in prayer, looked about in astonishment. The Emperor lifted his head and addressed them. “How long have we mourned? Too long, surely! Where is my chancellor? It seems to me my people are calling. Let the Empress be buried in the earth, never to be forgotten.”
The magic swan ring now exerted its influence in a new way. The Emperor became devotedly attached to the prelate, and the latter was troubled over its demoralizing influence. He went to Aix-la-Chapelle, followed by the Emperor, and threw the ring into a quiet forest lake made by the warm springs. From that time the place became the favorite resort of the Emperor. He erected a castle in the midst of the lake, in which he often meditated upon the frailty of earthly things. He took delight in bathing in the waters in whose depths the swan ring, taken from the hand of his beloved, rested without his knowledge.