Introduction
The two “Lives” contrasted.—This volume contains two lives of Charles the Great, or Charlemagne (for both forms of the name will be used indifferently in this introduction); both written within a century after his death; both full of admiration for the hero of whom they treat; both written by ecclesiastics; but resembling one another in hardly any other particular. It is not merely the value which each in its different way possesses, but also the great contrast between them, that makes it seem useful to present them together in a single volume. Professor Bury remarked in his inaugural lecture at Cambridge: “It would be a most fruitful investigation to trace from the earliest ages the history of public opinion in regard to the meaning of falsehood and the obligation of veracity”; and these two lives would form an interesting text for the illustration of such a treatise. The restrained, positive, well-arranged narrative of Eginhard seems to belong to a different age from the garrulous, credulous, and hopelessly jumbled story of the Monk of Saint Gall. And yet the two narratives were divided from one another by no long interval of time. It is impossible to fix with any certainty the date of the composition of Eginhard’s life, but there are various indications which make 820 a not impossible date. An incident mentioned by the Monk of Saint Gall makes the task of dating his work within limits an easier one. The work was suggested to him, he tells us, by Charles III. when he stayed for three days at the Monastery of Saint Gall, and it is possible to fix this event, with precision, to the year 883. We may think, therefore, of the Monk’s narrative as being separated from that of Eginhard by more than sixty years, and by about seventy from the death of its hero. But in the ninth century the mist of legend and myth steamed up rapidly from the grave of a well-known figure; there were few documents ready to the hand of a monk writing in the cloister of Saint Gall to assist him in writing an accurate narrative; there was no publicity of publication and no critical public to detect the errors of his work; above all, there was not in his own conscience the slightest possibility of reproach even if, with full consciousness of what he was doing, he changed the facts of history or interpolated the dreams of fancy, provided it were done in such a manner as “to point a moral or adorn a tale.”
The two “Lives” contrasted. This volume contains two lives of Charles the Great, or Charlemagne. Both forms of his name will be used interchangeably in this introduction. Both lives were written within a century of his death. Both are full of admiration for their hero, and both were written by ecclesiastics. But they are alike in hardly any other respect. Each has value in its own way, but the great contrast between them also makes it useful to present them together. Professor Bury remarked in his inaugural lecture at Cambridge: “It would be a most fruitful investigation to trace from the earliest ages the history of public opinion in regard to the meaning of falsehood and the obligation of veracity”. These two lives would make an interesting illustration for such a study. Eginhard’s restrained, factual, well-organized narrative seems to belong to a different age from the wordy, credulous, hopelessly muddled story of the Monk of Saint Gall. Yet the two accounts were not written very far apart. It is impossible to date Eginhard’s life with certainty, but various indications suggest that 820 is a possible date. An incident mentioned by the Monk of Saint Gall makes it easier to establish a range of dates for his work. He tells us that Charles III. suggested the work to him during a three-day stay at the Monastery of Saint Gall. We can date that visit precisely to 883. We may therefore think of the Monk’s account as written more than sixty years after Eginhard’s and about seventy years after Charlemagne’s death. But in the ninth century, a mist of legend and myth rose quickly from the grave of a well-known figure. A monk writing in the cloister of Saint Gall had few documents at hand to help him write an accurate account. Publication did not bring his work to wide public notice, and there was no critical public to detect its errors. Above all, his conscience could not have troubled him in the slightest, even if he knowingly changed historical facts or inserted inventions. He had only to do so in a way that would “point a moral or adorn a tale”.
And so it is that, whereas through Eginhard’s narrative we look at the life of the great Charles in a clear white light, through a medium which, despite a few inaccuracies, distorts the facts of history wonderfully little, when we take up the narrative of the Monk, on the other hand, we are at once among the clouds of dreamland; and only occasionally does the unsubstantial fabric fade, and allow us to get a glimpse of reality and actual occurrence. But now each of these narratives demands a somewhat more careful scrutiny.
Eginhard’s account shows us the life of the great Charles in a clear white light. Despite a few inaccuracies, it distorts the historical facts remarkably little. The Monk’s account, on the other hand, immediately takes us into the clouds of dreamland. Only occasionally does this insubstantial fabric fade, allowing us a glimpse of reality and actual events. But now each of these accounts calls for closer examination.
Eginhard’s Life of Charlemagne is a document of the first importance for the study of the epoch-making reign of his hero. Short as it is, we have often to confess that in the chronicles of the same period by other hands we can feel confidence only in such parts as are corroborated or supported by Eginhard. Its chief fault is that it is all too short—a fault which biographers rarely allow their readers to complain of. But when we consider how admirably fitted Eginhard was for the task which he undertook—by his close proximity to Charlemagne, by his intimate acquaintance with him, by his literary studies and sober and well-balanced mind; when we remember that he lived in a brief period of literary activity between two long stretches of darkness—it is tantalising to find him complaining of the multiplicity of books and restraining himself with a quotation from Cicero from writing at greater length.
Eginhard’s Life of Charlemagne is a document of the greatest importance for studying his hero’s era-defining reign. Although it is short, we often have to admit that we can trust other chronicles from the same period only where Eginhard confirms or supports them. Its chief fault is that it is far too short. This is a fault that biographers rarely give their readers reason to complain about. But Eginhard was admirably suited to the task he undertook. He was close to Charlemagne, knew him intimately, had studied literature, and had a sober, well-balanced mind. He also lived during a brief period of literary activity between two long stretches of darkness. Given all this, it is tantalizing to find him complaining that there are too many books. It is equally tantalizing to see him use a quotation from Cicero to restrain himself from writing at greater length.
The Career of Eginhard.—A sketch of Eginhard’s career will show how well qualified he was to deal with his subject. He was born about 770, in the eastern half of the territories belonging to the great Charles, in a village situate on the lower course of the river Main. His father Eginhard and his mother Engilfrita were landowners of some importance, and endowed by will the monastery of Fulda with lands and gold. It was to this monastery that the young Eginhard was sent for education. The monastery of Fulda was founded under the influence of Boniface, the great Englishman, whose zeal had driven him from Crediton, in Devonshire, to co-operate with the early Frankish kings in the conversion and conquest of Germany. The monastic movement was strong and vigorous in the eighth century, and nowhere more so than in the eastern half of the Frankish dominions. Eginhard was trained under the Abbot Baugulfus, and showed himself so apt and promising a pupil that the Abbot recommended him for a post at the Court of Charles (? 791).
The Career of Eginhard. A sketch of Eginhard’s career will show how well qualified he was to write about his subject. He was born about 770 in the eastern half of the territories belonging to the great Charles. His birthplace was a village on the lower course of the river Main. His father, Eginhard, and his mother, Engilfrita, were landowners of some importance. In their wills, they left land and gold to the monastery of Fulda. They sent the young Eginhard to the monastery for his education. The monastery of Fulda was founded under the influence of Boniface, the great Englishman. Boniface’s zeal had led him from Crediton, in Devonshire, to work with the early Frankish kings in converting and conquering Germany. The monastic movement was strong and vigorous in the eighth century, especially in the eastern half of the Frankish dominions. Eginhard was trained under Abbot Baugulfus. He was such a capable and promising pupil that the Abbot recommended him for a post at the Court of Charles (perhaps in 791).
The imperial crown was still nearly ten years distant, but Charles was already the most glorious and powerful of European rulers. In spite of all his constant fighting and travelling his extraordinary energy found place for interest in calmer subjects, and he gathered round him in his Court at Aix the best of what the age had to show in culture, knowledge, and eloquence. In this circle the most striking figure was Alcuin of York; but Eginhard soon made for himself a position of importance. Charles lived familiarly and genially with the scholars and writers of his palace, calling them by pet names and nicknames, and receiving the like in return. The King himself was David; Alcuin, Flaccus; Eginhard is called Bezaleel, after the man of whom we are told in Exodus, chapter xxxi., that he was “filled with the spirit of God, in wisdom, and in understanding, and in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship, to devise cunning works, to work in gold, and in silver, and in brass, and in cutting of stones, and in carving of timber.” As the allusion implies, Eginhard was no mere book-learned scholar, but had brought from his monastery school much technical and artistic knowledge. He has been called an architect, and many great buildings have been ascribed to him, but with more than doubtful probability. The minor arts were rather Eginhard’s forte, though it seems impossible to define them. Contemporaries speak of his carefully-wrought works, of the many tasks in which he was useful to Charles, but without exact specification. A contemporary document speaks of him as supervising the palace works at Aix; or rather, one Ansegisus is described as “the executant of the royal works in the royal palace at Aix, under the direction of the Abbot Eginhard, a man possessed of every kind of learning.”
The imperial crown was still nearly ten years away, but Charles was already Europe’s most glorious and powerful ruler. Despite his constant fighting and travelling, his extraordinary energy left him time for quieter interests. At his court in Aix, he gathered the finest representatives of the age’s culture, knowledge, and eloquence. The most striking figure in this circle was Alcuin of York, but Eginhard soon became important too. Charles lived on warm, familiar terms with the scholars and writers at his palace. He gave them pet names and nicknames, and they did the same for him. The King himself was David, Alcuin was Flaccus, and Eginhard was called Bezaleel. Eginhard’s name came from the man described in Exodus, chapter 31, as “filled with the spirit of God, in wisdom, and in understanding, and in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship, to devise cunning works, to work in gold, and in silver, and in brass, and in cutting of stones, and in carving of timber.” As the name suggests, Eginhard was more than a scholar with book learning. He had also gained considerable technical and artistic knowledge at his monastery school. He has been called an architect, and many great buildings have been attributed to him. But these attributions are more than doubtful. Eginhard’s strength lay in the smaller arts, though it seems impossible to say exactly what they were. His contemporaries mention his carefully crafted works and the many tasks he performed for Charles, but give no details. One contemporary document says he supervised work on the palace at Aix. More precisely, it describes a man named Ansegisus as “the executant of the royal works in the royal palace at Aix, under the direction of the Abbot Eginhard, a man possessed of every kind of learning.”
He was of small stature, and this is often made good-humoured fun of by his fellow-scholars. He is called the dwarf, the midget, the mannikin. Theodulf describes him as running about with the activity of an ant, and his body is spoken of as a small house with a great tenant. He married Imma, a Frankish lady of good family. (It is merely a stupid legend that makes of her a daughter of Charlemagne.) He lived with her happily, and was inconsolable after her death. Before his wife’s death and without putting her away from him, he had embraced the monastic life—a proceeding which in no way scandalised the ideas of that century. He was the abbot of many monasteries, which he held, in spite of the canonical prohibition, at the same time. Saint Peter of Ghent and Saint Wandrille, near Rouen, are those with which he is specially associated. He was on several occasions employed by Charles on important embassies, but was for the most part rather his secretary and confidant than his minister.
He was short, and his fellow scholars often teased him about it good-naturedly. They called him the dwarf, the midget, and the manikin. Theodulf described him as running about as busily as an ant. His body was described as a small house with a great tenant. He married Imma, a Frankish woman from a good family. (The story that she was a daughter of Charlemagne is just a stupid legend.) He lived happily with her and was inconsolable after her death. Before his wife died, he had entered monastic life without leaving her. This was in no way scandalous by the standards of that century. He was abbot of many monasteries at the same time, despite the prohibition in church law. He is especially associated with Saint Peter of Ghent and Saint Wandrille, near Rouen. Charles sent him on important diplomatic missions several times. But for the most part, he was Charles’s secretary and confidant rather than his minister.
His great master died in 814, and Eginhard survived him for twenty-nine years, having lived long enough to see the mighty fabric of Charles’s empire show signs of the rapid ruin that was soon to overtake it. He received from Lewis the Pious further ecclesiastical promotion, but still lived at the Court until 830. After that year his devotion to the Church mastered all other interests. He built a church at Mulinheim, and procured for it with great pains the relics of Saint Peter and Saint Marcellinus from Rome; and it was at Mulinheim, renamed Seligenstadt (the city of the saints), far from the intrigues of courts, that he passed most of the rest of his life. His wife Imma (“once my faithful wife, and later my dear sister and companion”) died in 836, and Eginhard’s deep sorrow at her loss finds pathetic expression in letters still extant. The political confusion and the utter failure of Charlemagne’s plans must have increased Eginhard’s distaste for public affairs. He died at Seligenstadt (probably in 844). His epitaph gave as his two titles to fame his services to Charlemagne and his acquisition of the precious relics.
His great master died in 814, and Eginhard outlived him by twenty-nine years. He lived long enough to see signs that Charles’s mighty empire would soon collapse. Lewis the Pious gave him further promotion within the Church, but Eginhard remained at Court until 830. After 830, his devotion to the Church took precedence over all his other interests. He built a church at Mulinheim and went to great trouble to obtain the relics of Saint Peter and Saint Marcellinus from Rome. He spent most of the rest of his life at Mulinheim, far from the intrigues of courts. The town was renamed Seligenstadt (the city of the saints). His wife Imma (“once my faithful wife, and later my dear sister and companion”) died in 836. Eginhard’s deep sorrow at her loss finds moving expression in letters that still survive. The political confusion and the complete failure of Charlemagne’s plans must have increased Eginhard’s distaste for public affairs. He died at Seligenstadt (probably in 844). His epitaph named two reasons for his fame: his services to Charlemagne and his acquisition of the precious relics.
The Writings of Eginhard that have come down to us are—(1) the Life of Charlemagne; (2) the Annals; (3) Letters; (4) the History of the Translation of the Relics of Saint Peter and Saint Marcellinus; (5) a short poem on the martyrdom of these two saints. These writings are all, with the possible exception of the last mentioned, of high value and interest, but the Life of Charlemagne is by far the most celebrated and important.
The Writings of Eginhard that survive are: (1) the Life of Charlemagne, (2) the Annals, (3) Letters, (4) the History of the Translation of the Relics of Saint Peter and Saint Marcellinus, and (5) a short poem on the martyrdom of these two saints. All these writings are valuable and interesting, with the possible exception of the poem. But the Life of Charlemagne is by far the most celebrated and important.
The Life of Charlemagne is the most striking result of the Classical Renaissance so diligently fostered at the Court of Charlemagne by the Emperor himself. Its form is directly copied from the Lives of the Cæsars by Suetonius, and especially from the Life of Augustus in that series. Phrases are constantly borrowed, and in some cases whole sentences. This imitation of Suetonius has its good and its bad results. It necessarily removed Eginhard’s work from the category of mediæval chronicles, with their garrulity, their reckless inventions, their humour, their desire to please, to amuse, and to glorify their hero, their order, or their monastery. Eginhard’s Life is not without mistakes, some of which are pointed out in the notes; but it is an honest, direct record of facts, and for these characteristics we are, doubtless, largely indebted to Suetonius’ influence. On the other hand, it was the example of his classical model that induced him to keep his work within such narrow limits. Compression was forced upon the Roman historian by the scope of his work, which embraced the lives of twelve emperors; and the life and reign of Augustus had already been fully handled by other historians. But Eginhard knew so much, and so little of equal value is written about his hero elsewhere, that his brevity is, for once, a quality hardly pardonable. Along with Asser’s Alfred and Boccaccio’s Dante it gives us an instance of a biographer who did not sufficiently magnify his office and his subject.
The Life of Charlemagne is the most striking product of the Classical Renaissance that Charlemagne himself worked diligently to foster at his Court. Its form is directly copied from Suetonius’ Lives of the Cæsars, especially the Life of Augustus. Eginhard constantly borrows phrases, and sometimes whole sentences. His imitation of Suetonius has both good and bad effects. It necessarily sets Eginhard’s work apart from medieval chronicles. Those chronicles are wordy, with reckless inventions, humor, and a desire to please and amuse. They also seek to glorify their hero, their religious order, or their monastery. Eginhard’s Life is not without mistakes, some of which are noted in the notes. But it is an honest, direct record of facts. For these qualities, we are doubtless largely indebted to Suetonius’ influence. On the other hand, Eginhard’s classical model led him to keep his work within such narrow limits. The scope of Suetonius’ work forced him to be concise, since it covered the lives of twelve emperors. Other historians had also already given full accounts of Augustus’ life and reign. But Eginhard knew so much, and so little of equal value has been written about his hero elsewhere. His brevity is therefore, for once, a quality that is hardly pardonable. Along with Asser’s Alfred and Boccaccio’s Dante, Eginhard’s Life gives us an example of a biographer who did not sufficiently value his role and his subject.
No other account of the Life and Reign of Charlemagne can find a place here. For some time English readers had reason to complain that there was no good and popular book dealing with the great Charles, for Gibbon’s chapter is admittedly not among the best parts of his history. But of late this reproach has been taken away. The two concluding volumes of Dr Hodgkin’s great work, entitled “Italy and her Invaders,” deal with Charles and his relations with Italy (vols. vii. and viii. “The Frankish Invasions” and “The Frankish Empire”). Dr Hodgkin has also written a general sketch of the whole of Charles’s career (“Charles the Great.” Foreign Statesmen Series. Macmillan). More recently, Mr Carless Davis has written a “Life of Charlemagne” for the Heroes of the Nations Series.
No other account of Charlemagne’s life and reign can be included here. For some time, English readers had reason to complain that there was no good, accessible book about the great Charles. Gibbon’s chapter is admittedly not among the best parts of his history. But this complaint is no longer justified. The final two volumes of Dr Hodgkin’s great work, “Italy and her Invaders,” cover Charles and his relations with Italy. They are volumes vii. and viii., “The Frankish Invasions” and “The Frankish Empire.” Dr Hodgkin has also written a general account of Charles’s entire career (“Charles the Great.” Foreign Statesmen Series. Macmillan). More recently, Mr Carless Davis has written a “Life of Charlemagne” for the Heroes of the Nations Series.
It is in works such as these (to mention no others) and not in Eginhard that the real historical significance of Charlemagne’s life-work appears. Eginhard stood too near to his hero, and had too little sense of historical perspective to realise the abiding greatness of what Charles accomplished. It is the lapse of 1100 years that has brought into increasing clearness the importance of those years which lie like a great watershed between the ancient and the mediæval world. Of him, as of most great rulers, it is true that he “builded better than he knew.” His empire soon became a tradition, his intellectual revival was eclipsed by a further plunge into the “Dark Ages,” but all that he did was not swept away. With him ends the ruin of the ancient world, and with him begins the building up of the mediæval and modern world.
Works like these, to mention no others, reveal the true historical significance of Charlemagne’s life’s work. Eginhard’s account does not. Eginhard was too close to his hero and had too little historical perspective to recognize the lasting greatness of Charles’s achievements. The passage of 1,100 years has made the importance of those years increasingly clear. They mark a great divide between the ancient and medieval worlds. Like most great rulers, Charlemagne “builded better than he knew.” His empire soon became a memory, and his intellectual revival was eclipsed by a further plunge into the “Dark Ages.” But not everything he did was swept away. With him, the ruin of the ancient world ends, and the building of the medieval and modern world begins.
He did not find in Eginhard an entirely worthy biographer; but the “mannikin’s” work has received unstinted praise since the time when it was written. It was praised by a contemporary as recalling the elegance of the classical authors; its popularity during the Middle Ages is attested to by the existence of sixty manuscript copies; and a French editor has declared that we have to go on to the thirteenth century, and to Joinville’s Life of St Louis, before we find a rival in importance to Eginhard’s Life of Charlemagne.
He did not find an entirely worthy biographer in Eginhard. But the “mannikin’s” work has received unreserved praise ever since it was written. A contemporary praised it for recalling the elegance of the classical authors. Its popularity in the Middle Ages is shown by the existence of sixty manuscript copies. A French editor has declared that we must go forward to the thirteenth century to find a work of comparable importance. That rival is Joinville’s Life of St Louis.
The Monk of Saint Gall, it seems, must remain anonymous, for the attempt to identify him with Notker rests on no better foundation than the fact, or supposition, that both stammered. And this seems to be supposition rather than fact. We are, indeed, told on good authority that Notker stammered; but the view that the Monk of Saint Gall suffered from the same defect rests only on a sentence in Chapter XVII., where he contrasts the swift, direct glance of others with his own slow and rambling narrative—“Which I have been trying to unfold, though a stammerer, and toothless” (“quæ ego balbus et edentalus explicare tentavi”). It seems impossible to think that the words here must be taken in their literal sense. As the author is writing, not speaking, any defect of voice or teeth would in no way hinder his narrative: it is clear that the words are a piece of conventional and metaphorical depreciation.
The Monk of Saint Gall, it seems, must remain anonymous. The attempt to identify him as Notker rests only on the fact, or supposition, that both stammered. And this seems to be supposition rather than fact. We are told on good authority that Notker stammered. But the view that the Monk of Saint Gall had the same difficulty rests on a single sentence in Chapter XVII. There, he contrasts the swift, direct glance of others with his own slow and rambling narrative: “Which I have been trying to unfold, though a stammerer, and toothless” (“quæ ego balbus et edentalus explicare tentavi”). It seems impossible to insist that these words be taken literally. Since the author is writing, not speaking, a speech difficulty or missing teeth would not hinder his narrative. Clearly, the words are a conventional, metaphorical way of belittling his own work.
We know, then, nothing of the author beyond what he tells us in his narrative; and he tells us little, except that he was a German, and a monk in the Monastery of Saint Gall when Grimald and Hartmuth were abbots; that he had never himself been in Western Frankland, but had seen the Emperor Charles III. during his three days’ stay in the monastery, and at his bidding had written an account of Charles the Great, and his deeds and ways.
We know nothing about the author beyond what he tells us in his account. He tells us little. He was a German and a monk at the Monastery of Saint Gall when Grimald and Hartmuth were abbots. He had never been to Western Frankland, but he saw Emperor Charles III during the emperor’s three-day stay at the monastery. At the emperor’s request, he wrote an account of Charles the Great, his deeds, and his ways.
The monastery in which he wrote has a special interest for our islands; for Saint Gall was an Irishman of noble family, and an inmate of a monastery in County Down, which was at that time governed by Saint Comgel. He was one of the twelve monks who in 585 followed Saint Columban into Frankland. Switzerland was the great scene of his evangelical labours. The Catholic Church celebrates his death on the 16th October; and tells in the Lectiones of that day how he destroyed the idols of the heathen; how he turned many to Christianity, and, even to the monastic life; how he founded the Monastery of Saint Gall in his eighty-fifth year, and died at the age of ninety-five, having previously been warned in a dream of the death of his master, Saint Columban; and how at once miracles declared that a saint had passed away. His monastery for a century followed the rule of Saint Columban, and then, in common with most monastic institutions of Western Europe, adopted the rule of Saint Benedict.
The monastery where he wrote is of special interest to our islands. Saint Gall was an Irishman from a noble family and a member of a monastery in County Down, then governed by Saint Comgel. He was one of the twelve monks who followed Saint Columban into Frankland in 585. He carried out most of his missionary work in Switzerland. The Catholic Church commemorates his death on 16 October. In the Lectiones for that day, it tells how he destroyed pagan idols and converted many people to Christianity, some even becoming monks. It also tells how he founded the Monastery of Saint Gall in his eighty-fifth year and died at ninety-five. Before his death, he had been warned in a dream that his master, Saint Columban, had died. Miracles immediately showed that a saint had passed away. For a century, his monastery followed the rule of Saint Columban. Then, like most monasteries in Western Europe, it adopted the rule of Saint Benedict.
It was in the famous abbey, that owed its foundation to this Irish missionary, that this account of the deeds of Charlemagne—the Gesta Karoli—was written. The author is at more pains than we should expect to tell us from what sources he derived his information. The preface to the work is lost; but at the end of the first book he repeats some of the information that he had inserted in it. It was his intention, he informs us, to follow three authorities, and three authorities only; but of these three he seems to mention two only—Werinbert, a monk of Saint Gall, who died just as he was completing the first part; and Adalbert, the father of Werinbert, who followed Kerold, the brother of Queen Hildigard, in the wars that were fought, under Charlemagne’s banner, against the Huns and the Saxons and Slavs. It is an amusing picture that he gives us, at the end of the first book, of Adalbert’s anxiety to tell him of Charles’s exploits and his own unwillingness to hear. It is to be presumed that the stories were often repeated, for not only facts but words seem to have remained in the mind of the unwilling listener. The third authority does not seem to be mentioned, unless he means to imply that Kerold himself (who was killed in an expedition against the Avars in 799) is one of his sources of information.
This account of Charlemagne’s deeds, the Gesta Karoli, was written in the famous abbey founded by this Irish missionary. The author takes more care than we might expect to explain his sources. The preface is lost, but at the end of the first book he repeats some of its information. He tells us that he intended to rely on three authorities, and only three. But he seems to mention only two. One was Werinbert, a monk of Saint Gall, who died just as he was completing the first part. The other was Werinbert’s father, Adalbert. Adalbert followed Kerold, Queen Hildigard’s brother, in the wars fought under Charlemagne’s banner against the Huns, Saxons, and Slavs. At the end of the first book, the author gives an amusing picture of Adalbert’s eagerness to tell him about Charles’s exploits and his own reluctance to listen. We may assume the stories were often repeated. For the unwilling listener seems to have remembered not only the facts but also the words. The third authority does not seem to be mentioned, unless the author means to suggest that Kerold himself was one of his sources. Kerold was killed in an expedition against the Avars in 799.
The whole of what the Monk of Saint Gall wrote is not left to us. The preface, as we have seen, is missing, and also, perhaps, a third book; for in the sixteenth chapter of the second book it seems that our author promises us an account of the habits of Charles, his cotidiana conversatio, when the story of his military exploits has been finished. But this may easily be a misunderstanding of his meaning; or, rather, it may be giving too great a precision to it. The good Monk is so little able to follow out any line of thought, or to maintain any arrangement, that it may well be that the “daily conversation” of Charles never received any separate treatment.
Not all of what the Monk of Saint Gall wrote has survived. As we have seen, the preface is missing, and perhaps a third book is missing too. In the sixteenth chapter of the second book, the author seems to promise an account of Charles’s habits, his cotidiana conversatio, after finishing the story of his military exploits. But this may easily be a misunderstanding of his meaning. Or rather, it may make his meaning seem more precise than it was. The good Monk is so unable to follow a line of thought or stick to any plan that he may never have dealt separately with Charles’s “daily conversation.”
No attempt will be made here to estimate the historical value of the narrative, though it would be a matter of curious speculation to consider whether the critical historian can employ any method whereby a residuum of objective fact can be separated from the mass of legend, saga, invention, and reckless blundering of which the greater part of the book is made up. But, apart from any value which it may possess as a historical document, the Monk’s story is of great interest for the light which it throws on the methods and outlook of a monk of the early Middle Ages. Charles has been dead not much more than half-a-century; the author has talked familiarly with those who knew him and fought under him; and yet the Charlemagne legend has already begun. Charles is already, if not inspired, at least supernaturally wise; if he does not work miracles, miracles are wrought in his presence, and on his behalf; if he does not yet lead the armies of Christendom to Jerusalem, he is already the specially recognised protector of the Holy City. There are passages too, as, for instance, the account of the visit of the envoys of the Greek Emperor, and Charles’s “iron-march to Pavia,” where we seem to detect the existence of a popular saga—a poem—underlying the prose narrative. With the help of M. Gaston Paris’s “Histoire Poétique de Charlemagne,” we can trace the further development of the legend. By the eleventh century Charles was already a martyr for the faith, and the Crusaders believed themselves to be passing along his route to Jerusalem. “Turpin’s” chronicle, in the eleventh century, shows the vast extension of the legend, which now loses all but the vaguest relation to the actual events of history and the real characteristics of Charles. In the twelfth century (1165) Charles was solemnly canonised; and thenceforward the story spread into all lands, and received its last stroke in the time of the Renaissance, at the hands of Pulci, Boiardo, and Ariosto. These poets chiefly concern themselves, however, with the paladins of Charles; and the King himself forms the dimly-conceived centre, round whom the whole story revolves, deciding disputes, besieging the Turks in Paris, priest-like rather than royal in his main features, and by Ariosto treated with some irony and banter. These mediæval legends of Charlemagne may well be compared to those which deal with Virgil, whose transformation into a magician is not less remarkable than Charles’s development into a saint. If the Charlemagne legend ends with Ariosto, Dante may be said to have given the last shape to the many transformations of Virgil, when, more than two centuries before Ariosto’s “Orlando,” Virgil acted as guide to Dante through the “lost folk” of the Inferno, and the toilsome ascent of Purgatory, until he handed him over at last into the keeping of Beatrice at the gate of the earthly Paradise.
No attempt will be made here to assess the narrative’s historical value. Still, it would be intriguing to ask whether a critical historian could separate any core of objective fact from it. Most of the book consists of legend, saga, invention, and reckless blunders. But whatever value the Monk’s story may have as a historical document, it is highly interesting for another reason. It sheds light on the methods and outlook of an early medieval monk. Charles has been dead for only a little more than half a century. The author has spoken at length with people who knew Charles and fought under him. Yet the Charlemagne legend has already begun. Charles is already, if not divinely inspired, at least supernaturally wise. If he does not perform miracles, miracles occur in his presence and on his behalf. If he does not yet lead the armies of Christendom to Jerusalem, he is already recognized as the Holy City’s special protector. Some passages seem to draw on a popular saga, a poem, behind the prose narrative. Examples include the account of the Greek Emperor’s envoys and Charles’s “iron-march to Pavia.” With the help of M. Gaston Paris’s “Histoire Poétique de Charlemagne,” we can trace the legend’s later development. By the eleventh century, Charles was already a martyr for the faith. The Crusaders believed they were following his route to Jerusalem. “Turpin’s” chronicle, from the eleventh century, shows how greatly the legend had expanded. It now bears only the vaguest relation to actual historical events and Charles’s real character. In the twelfth century, in 1165, Charles was formally canonized. From then on, his story spread to all lands. It received its final touches during the Renaissance from Pulci, Boiardo, and Ariosto. These poets chiefly focus, however, on Charles’s paladins. The King himself is a dimly imagined figure at the center of the whole story. He settles disputes and besieges the Turks in Paris. His main features are more priestly than royal, and Ariosto treats him with some irony and playful mockery. These medieval legends of Charlemagne can well be compared with those about Virgil. His transformation into a magician is no less remarkable than Charles’s development into a saint. If the Charlemagne legend ends with Ariosto, Dante may be said to have given Virgil’s many transformations their final form. More than two centuries before Ariosto’s “Orlando,” Virgil guided Dante among the “lost folk” of the Inferno. He then guided Dante up the arduous ascent of Purgatory. At the gate of the earthly Paradise, Virgil finally handed Dante over to Beatrice’s care.
Story and myth naturally attach themselves only to the greatest figures; and the Monk of Saint Gall’s narrative becomes then, even by virtue of its inventions and unrealities, a testimony to the effect produced on the mind of his century by the career of Charles.
Stories and myths naturally gather only around the greatest figures. The Monk of Saint Gall’s narrative, even through its inventions and unrealities, shows the effect Charles’s career had on the minds of people in the Monk’s century.
Both the life of Eginhard and the Monk’s narrative have been translated from Jaffe’s “Bibliotheca Rerum Germanicarum”; which, both in its reading and arrangement, differs at times considerably from the text given in Pertz’s “Monumenta Germaniæ Historica.”
Both Eginhard’s life and the Monk’s narrative have been translated from Jaffe’s “Bibliotheca Rerum Germanicarum”. Its wording and arrangement sometimes differ considerably from the text in Pertz’s “Monumenta Germaniæ Historica.”