Part 17

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.

VIII CAROLINGIAN CULTURE

The Emperor’s solicitude in promoting learning has caused his reign to be spoken of as the Carolingian Renaissance. But Charles’ intellectual interests were not those of a fifteenth century humanist. He desired the revival of letters because he saw in learning a means by which the Church, which, to his mind, was the organization of the state Christianized, might overcome pagan survivals, and take the lead in civilizing the various nationalities in his realm. The clergy and the monks were ignorant--they could neither preach nor teach. The Emperor planned a kind of Christian Athens, a new community of scholars, in which learning was to be the handmaid of religion. After he had assumed the title of Emperor, he recalled how closely the glory of letters was associated with the renown of the Roman world, and he desired his own reign to be signalized by the same elements of culture.

The point of view of this intellectual revival is indicated in the following letter addressed by Charles to Baugulf, Abbot of Fulda. “Know,” he says, “that in recent years, since many monasteries were in the habit of writing us to let us know that their members were offering prayers for us, we noticed that in most of these writings the sentiments were good, and the composition bad. For what a pious devotion within was faithfully inspiring, an untrained tongue was incapable of explaining outwardly because of the inadequacy of scholarship. So we commenced to fear that, as the knowledge of style was weak, the understanding of the Holy Scriptures was less than it should be; we all know that if verbal errors are dangerous, mistakes in sense are much worse. For this reason we exhort you not only not to neglect the study of letters, but to cultivate them with a humility agreeable to God, in order that you may the more easily or the more justly fathom the mysteries of the divine writings. As there are in the sacred books figures, tropes, and other like things, there is no doubt that in reading them each one attains to the spiritual sense of them the more quickly, in proportion as he has received before a complete literary training.... Do not forget to send copies of this letter to all of those with you who are bishops, and to all the monasteries, if you wish to enjoy our favors.”

It was not enough to rely on those already set in authority--they had to be placed under supervision themselves. Charles saw, as he expressed it, that he had to find men who had the will and the ability to learn, and the desire to teach others. Such leaders were selected from all nationalities, Anglo-Saxons, Irishmen, Scots, Lombards, Goths, Bavarians. The first to be attracted by the King’s inducements of good pay and an honorable position were the grammarians, Peter of Pisa, and Paulinus, and Paul the Deacon, the poet and historian. But in influence all these were second to Alcuin, a native of England. Born in 735, he entered the School of York when Egbert, one of the disciples of Bede, was archbishop. Alcuin under his master Albert acquired the kind of encyclopedic knowledge that is handed down to us in the volumes of Isidore and Bede, the chief stress being laid on the Holy Scriptures, helped out by jejune rhetorical exercises, and scraps of physical science. He had read Latin literature, knew Greek, and was familiar with the great writers of Christian antiquity. The King was glad to secure such a prize, and the two became close friends. Alcuin acted as confidential adviser to the King, and was one of those who arranged for the coronation in 800.

There is a considerable body of literary work from Alcuin’s pen, but nothing he wrote shows any originality. He was little more than a faithful transmitter of the learning he received. He set the seal on the traditional division of knowledge in its seven stages, or, as it was technically known, the seven arts: grammar, rhetoric, dialectic, arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy. His literary interests may be judged from the following dialogue: “What is writing?” said Pippin, one of the Emperor’s sons. “The guardian of history,” replied Alcuin. “What is speech?” “The treason of thought.” “What engenders speech?” “The tongue.” “What is the tongue?” “The flail of the air.” “What is the air?” “The guardian of life.” “What is life?” “The joy of the happy, the pain of the wretched, the expectation of death.” “What is man?” “The slave of death, the guest of a place, a passing traveler.”

These preciosities give one a depressing idea of Alcuin’s ability. Yet it must be remembered that they were marvels to the obtuse and crudely trained minds of men whose chief occupation was war and the chase, and as an intellectual stimulus they were just as effective as are to-day the eagerly scanned columns of modern journalism.

Alcuin was made royal director of studies; he was schoolmaster of the palace, and from this circle of the King’s friends originated the Palatine Academy, the members of which, in order to mark their efforts at imitating classic culture, adopted fancifully the names of ancient worthies. So Charles was called David, Alcuin was called Horatius Flaccus, and Angilbert, Homer. In order to extend their influence Charles promoted several of the members of the Academy to important positions in the Church, making them bishops or abbots.

The royal plans for promoting learning are indicated in a capitulary of March 23, 789. “Let,” he says, “the ministers of God draw about them not only young people of servile condition, but the sons of freemen. Let there be reading schools for the children. Let the psalms, musical notation, singing, arithmetic, and grammar be taught in all the monasteries and all the bishoprics.” These directions led to the creation of numerous monastic and episcopal schools, all ordered “according to the customs of the palace.” Alcuin, in 796, withdrew to Tours, becoming the abbot of St. Martin’s there, and planned to found a replica of the Saxon school at York, where he had himself been trained.

The success of the new educational policy owed much to Theodulph, a Spaniard of Gothic birth, who, in becoming bishop of Orleans about 798, proceeded to see that his clergy were industrious in reading and preaching. Schools were opened in town and country where children were educated without payment, though the parents were expected, if they were able, to make some return proportionate to their means. From a document written by another Carolingian bishop, it appears that parents were urged to send their children and allow them to remain at school until they were really instructed. In such provisions, it is possible to find a sketch for primary instruction, though it is not known how successfully or how widely it was developed.

Supplementing these lower schools were others of a higher grade founded in the more populous centers. In the episcopal and monastic schools there were accessible collections of books. Charles himself had a library attached to the palace. The size of some of these collections may be estimated from the fact that one monastery, St. Riquier owned two hundred and fifty-six manuscripts. We know, too, that abbots were accustomed in their election to give presents of books to their monasteries. In the lists of these donations, which have been preserved, are to be found chiefly Christian writers, St. Augustine being an especial favorite; some of the poets of antiquity also find a place, generally Virgil. The atmosphere of this revival of letters was predominantly Christian. There are extant, for example, numerous commentaries on the Gospels of this age, but they are of slight value, being mere transcriptions of previous authorities.

More successful was the new régime in the mechanical work of preparing better texts. One of the capitularies directs special care to be given in selecting copyists equal to their task. Both Alcuin and Theodulph were engaged in preparing a revised version of the Latin Bible, the latter scholar, with more discretion, using as his model the text prepared by the famous prime minister of Theodoric, Cassiodorus, after he had returned to his monastery in Calabria.

The historical literature of the period also shows the influence of this religious “Renaissance.” Hagiographical works were popular, but in general critical ability was wanting in them. But some advance was made, for although the traditional lines of narrative are preserved, more biographical details are given and the style is improved. This type of Carolingian literature can best be studied in Eigil’s life of Sturm, in the biographies of Gregory of Utrecht, by Liudger, and in Alcuin’s “Life of Willibrord.” Some of the annals compiled at this time follow preëxisting models, while others show a distinct improvement, especially the “Royal Annals,” which were compiled under the influence of the royal “littérateurs.” The most noteworthy of this type are the annals of Lorsch, which follow the course of contemporary history down to the year 829; they have been assigned without sufficient reason to Einhard, since it is known that works of a similar character, the “Gesta,” of the bishops of Metz, were composed by Paul the Deacon.

The greatest monument of the literary revival is Einhard’s “Life of Charles.” Its author, who had studied at Fulda, and become a member of the court circle sometime between 791 and 796, was a favorite of the Emperor, and received as a gift several abbeys. Suetonius was taken as a model by Einhard, but was not slavishly followed. He oftentimes changes the phrases of his original, and, copyist as he is, he leaves on the reader the impression of freshness and vigor. Allowing himself to be guided by his original, he sets down much information which the ordinary medieval biographer leaves unmentioned.

Many letters of this time have been preserved, among the most interesting being the correspondence of Alcuin. Poetry was widely read, and all sorts of subjects were treated in verse. Especial attention was given to metrical inscriptions intended to be placed over the doors of churches or private houses, on walls, altars, tombs, and in books. The acrostic form was extremely popular and applied with great ingenuity. For the more serious poetic efforts, the most popular models were the Christian poets, Prudentius and Fortunatus. But pagan authors were by no means neglected, for Ovid, Virgil, Martial, Horace, Lucan, and Propertius all found imitators. Attempts were made to revive epic poetry, some of the writers, as in the case of Hugelbert, by no means doing discredit to their classical models.

While Latin was the official language, Charles did all he could to encourage his native Teutonic speech; he made collections of the folklore poetry of his own people, directed the preparation of a “Frank” grammar, and tried to introduce the custom of using the Teutonic names for the months of the year and winds. But throughout the greater part of Gaul the “Romance” tongue predominated, though educated people did not care to employ it. Charles’ biographer tells us that the Emperor spoke it along with Frankish and Latin. At the Council of Tours, in 813, the bishops decided that the homilies should be translated into Romance in order to be understood by the congregation.

Warlike songs in the vernacular, celebrating the exploits of the Franks, are mentioned. The great deeds of the Emperor himself had this popular recognition, especially the expedition into Spain and the wars of the Saxons, which excited the popular fancy. That the actual combatants were accustomed to recount, in verse, both Frankish and Romance, the events they themselves had witnessed, is known from the case of Adalbert, a veteran of the wars with the Avars and the Slavs, whose narrative was taken down by a monk of St. Gall, and transcribed into Latin.

Carolingian art, like Carolingian literature, was pre-eminently religious. The revival of art was to a great extent a restoration, i.e., an attempt to keep already existing church buildings from falling into ruin. This process of destruction was due to the avarice and carelessness of the generations immediately preceding the founding of the Empire. New churches were also constructed, the work of building being laid on the various communities and superintended by the bishops and the counts. The Emperor’s minister of public works was Einhard, to whom have been attributed, without sufficient ground, however, some of the greatest monuments of the period, the bridges at Mainz, the palace and church at Aix, and the palace at Ingelheim. Though the monuments of Carolingian architecture were scattered over a wide extent of territory, Germany, Gaul, and Lombardy, few have survived. Wood was used for both basilicas and country churches, especially in the Northern parts of the Empire, and such buildings were naturally not durable. Where stone was employed, restoration has so altered the original construction that few examples of the architecture of this period can be identified with certainty. The basilica type of church, usual in Merovingian France, was retained, but more attention was given to the technique of ancient art. Einhard, we know, read Vitruvius. An original feature of the Carolingian age was the lantern tower, square or cylindrical, erected at the transept crossing, and surmounted by a cupola containing the church bells.