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.