Upon the day fixed for the coronation Charlemagne appeared in the Cathedral imperially arrayed, and met the notables assembled there. He led his son Ludwig to the altar, where a throne had been placed. After they had offered prayer they arose, and Charlemagne made a solemn address to his son in which he bade him always to be mindful of the duties of a sovereign, closing with these words:
“Compel malicious and dangerous disturbers by force to live in an orderly manner and pursue the right way. Be the consoler and defender of the cloisters and the poor. Select only wise, just, and firm counsellors. Never remove one except for proper reasons, and so conduct yourself that you may have no cause to blush before God or man.”
When Ludwig had promised to follow these counsels the Emperor ordered him to take the crown from the altar and place it upon his head. This was done. The Emperor was a loyal adherent of the Church, but he did not care to have the ceremony performed by priestly hands, as he feared that it might open the way to future assumptions of a dangerous kind. Supported by his son, the venerable Emperor thereupon left for the palace.
Ludwig went temporarily to Aquitaine, which had been assigned to him. The separation between father and son was a painful one, for neither felt that they should see each other again.
The people were greatly troubled, particularly by a remarkable event which shortly occurred and so worked upon the popular fancy that they expected some dire calamity would follow. The colonnade connecting the palace and the minster was struck by lightning, the dome was injured, and the last words upon the altar, “Carolus princeps,” were effaced. But Charlemagne gave no attention to it. It was of little consequence to him.
The year 814 opened. It was plain to all that the Emperor was growing weaker. On the twenty-seventh of January the last rites were administered by Bishop Heldebald in both forms, and early the next day Charlemagne passed away in the seventy-second year of his age and the forty-seventh of his reign, with the words “Into Thy hands I commit my spirit.”
The real nature of this calamity is shown by the discussion which took place as to the suitable manner of the Emperor’s interment. He who had so long watched over the welfare of the Empire, he who had so often sat upon his steed as the battle hero, upon his throne as lawgiver, judge, and counsellor, and as teacher among the scholars of the academy, should he now lie in a coffin? They could not conceive of it. It was repugnant to the sentiment of all those whose hearts were overcome by their great loss. After earnest discussion they decided upon a form of interment which should reflect the greatness of that loss. Seated upon a marble throne with gold adornments, in imperial garb glistening with golden bees, the crown upon his head, sword and pilgrim’s scrip at his side, a Testament upon his knees, and a fragment of the Holy Cross at his breast, thus was the dead Emperor lowered to the crypt of the minster, which was filled with the costliest spices.
One hundred and eighty-six years later, in the year 1000, the German Emperor Otto the Third, who was a victim of melancholy, opened the crypt, hoping that the sight of the great dead would restore peace and rest to his soul. The glare of torches revealed the majestic figure of the Emperor, still sitting upright on his throne. Otto, however, did not find the rest for which he had hoped. Had he realized the spirit of the Emperor, had he studied him in his great works, perhaps it would have brought him relief and the fresh incentive to activity might have resulted in more faithful performance of his duties as sovereign.
A century and a half later the crypt was again opened by Barbarossa, who ordered that the precious remains of Charlemagne should be placed in a marble casket and buried in the Cathedral.