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.