The world's leading conquerors

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.

The “missi,” as we have seen, were selected from the higher clergy and from the great landlords. Their persons were held to be inviolate and sacred; all the lower officials of the Empire were ordered to receive them with respect and give them ready help, and to attack them was a capital offense.

Theodulf, bishop of Orleans, one of the clergy performing the functions of a “missus,” has left us an account of an official journey made by him to the South of France. He took boat on the Rhône with his companion, Leidrade, the archbishop of Lyons, and their work of inspection began at Avignon. They held their assizes at Nîmes, Maguelonne, Cette, Agde, Béziers, Narbonne, Carcassonne, le Razès, Arles, Marseilles, Aix, Cavaillon. The clergy and people hastened to take advantage of their presence, but Theodulf tells us they did so with no worthy motive, for they were prepared to buy their favor, each according to his means. The rich offered good coin, precious stones, valuable stuffs, and oriental carpets, arms, horses, ancient vases “of pure metal unbelievably heavy, on which a skilful graver had represented the fight of Hercules with the giant Cacus.” The poorer citizens were ready to give red and white skins of Cordova, excellent fabrics of linen or wool, chests, and wax.

“Such was the engine of war with which they hoped to make a breach in the wall of my soul,” the bishop says, intimating that they had learned the way by past experience. The custom of giving presents to officials was so firmly established that even the reforming bishop hesitated to interfere with it. Accordingly, in order not to offend the suitors, he felt constrained to accept articles of small value, such as eggs, bread, wine, tender chickens, and birds, “whose body is small but good to eat.”

Little change was made in the ordinary forms of the Frankish judicial system by Charles; the count still continued to hold his tribunal as in Merovingian times, the freedmen of the county were expected to be present as assessors, but owing to the difficulty of securing an intelligent tribunal in this haphazard way, Charles instituted a chosen class of assessors called “scabini,” who were to be taken from the class of “well-born, prudent, and God-fearing men.” This body was both the judge and jury, as the count only acted as their presiding officer and pronounced the sentence formulated by them. From the verdict of this tribunal there was an appeal either to the King or to the judgment of God, the favorite form of which at this time was the test by the cross. In this test, the defendant, holding his arms in the form of a cross, had to stand upright without changing his position, while the clergy recited certain prayers. If any movement was made, it was taken as a sign of guilt.

In the palace the King himself often acted in the capacity of judge in the first instance, and he also heard appeals either in person or by proxy through the count of the palace. Considerable care was taken that the right of appeal should not be used indiscriminately. The palace officials had important governmental as well as personal functions; their general collective title was the “palatins.” There was no Mayor of the Palace, the first place being held by the count, who, as has just been noted, had judicial duties. The administration of the palace was also in his hands. The religious services of the household were directed by the arch-chaplain; then came the chamberlains, treasurers, seneschals, butlers, constables, and the master of domestic functions. Counts of the palace are found in the command of armies; one of them being killed by the side of Roland at Roncesvalles, another in Saxony. Seneschals had charge of the kitchens, but they are also mentioned as valiant warriors. Butlers were also diplomatists, and we find a constable fighting the Slavs on the Elbe.

A real effort at division of labor is to be found solely in what might be called, with some elasticity of phrase, the Record Office, where notaries prepared the King’s letters, charters, and acts of immunity. At their head was an ecclesiastic, the protonotary, or chancellor. He was a dependent of the arch-chaplain, and did not have charge of the seal, yet his position was especially confidential, as he kept the archives.

The King consulted the court officials, who, according to his pleasure, were gathered about him in an informal way whenever he saw fit to call them. But, besides this, we are told that Charles had always with him three of his counselors, chosen among the wisest and most eminent about him; without their advice he did nothing. To the royal household there were regularly attached a number of young men, the “discipuli,” sent there to be educated, and the “comites,” or personal retainers of the King, a continuation of a custom mentioned by Tacitus.