IN turning over the last page, my young friends, you have grown nine years older. You see time flies quickly when you read my writings. Do I ask too much in begging you to make a hasty flight with me, in five minutes, from the year 769 to the year 778?

Charlemagne, after having, as I said just now, performed his religious duties at Duren and at Liege, returned to Worms at the beginning of the year 770. There Miton and Mita were married, and there, subsequently, the latter gave birth to a lovely little girl, who was called Mitaine—a lovely little angel, plump and soft, with large black eyes, and golden locks as bright as the glory of a saint. Charlemagne saw the infant one day in its mother’s arms, and believed he beheld a vision.

“Surely,” said the good Emperor, “this is Our Lady with her holy babe!”

When he came nearer, he recognised the Countess of Rennes.

“You are too blest, Lady Mita. You are favoured of Heaven indeed. It is not possible but that this little angel should bring good fortune to all who approach her; and, if she has not already been christened, I should like to be one of her sponsors. Would you wish me to be her godfather?”

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Charlemagne took one of the child s tiny hands, and kissed it, the little arm disappearing entirely in the monarch’s bushy beard and moustache.

Then, radiant with joy at this meeting, which he looked upon as a good omen, the Emperor hastened to an assembly of the people that he had convened. He was so happy and devoid of anxiety, that he yielded to the intercession of his mother, Bertha of the Big Feet, who had long been trying in vain to bring about a reconciliation between him and his brother Carloman.

During this same year Himiltrude bore a son, who was charming in face, but, unfortunately, deformed in figure. Charles christened him Pepin, but the people nick-named him Hunchback; and when the populace takes upon itself to act as sponsor, the names it gives do not die out.

This son and heir was not calculated to flatter the Emperor’s dignity. His father did not receive him very favourably, and determined to divorce Himiltrude.

Aude and Roland, less fortunate than Miton and Mita, were not yet married.

“Sire, is it not time to celebrate our nuptials?” said the Count ot Mans one day to Charlemagne. “For eight months I have been waiting your pleasure, and I trust you will at last fix a day for the marriage.”

The Emperor had just had a dispute with his queen about the child, so that he did not just then regard marriage very favourably. He did not listen with a very good grace to his nephew’s entreaty.

“By my beard, I consider you’re in too great a hurry:—know that! Your beard is scarce grown, and yet you want to be at the head of an establishment. That is not what I consider proper. You have to make a name for yourself before you think of transmitting it to others. Besides, a man never fights so well if he has a wife and family; so don’t bother my head any more about it. You are, both of you, young enough to wait—wait!”

Queen Bertha, who had no more affection for her daughter-in-law than Charles had for his wife set out for Lombardy to settle a fresh alliance, and before long returned with Desiderade, daughter of Didier, King of Lombardy. Himiltrude, I should add, was divorced, despite the threats of the Pope, Stephen the Third.

Charlemagne spent his Christmas this year in Burgundy, and Easter at Valenciennes, in Hainault.

The reconciliation of the brothers had never been more than a formal one; so that when, about the second week in December, 771, Charles heard of Carloman’s death at Samoucy, a royal palace in the old diocese of Laon, he did not waste any time on tears. He called together a full court at Valenciennes, announced to his lords the death of his brother, and led them into Neustria. He encamped on the royal farms of Carbonac, in the midst of the forest of Ardennes. The formidable appearance of the forces he commanded induced the nobles and bishops to do fealty to him. Gerberge, daughter of Didier, and widow of Carloman, endeavoured vainly to assert her children’s rights. She was compelled to fly with them and a few attendants, and seek refuge at the court of her father. Charlemagne was then proclaimed sole ruler of all the realm of the Franks.

Queen Bertha’s choice had not proved a very fortunate one. Desiderade, sister of the dethroned Queen of Neustria, did not make a very sprightly appearance at the Court of France, so Charles determined to get rid of her.

Roland, who was ever lamenting the indefinite postponement of his marriage, once more addressed his uncle on the subject.

“You do not intend, I am sure, sire, to do me a wrong, but you inflict more suffering on me than I can express by thus perpetually adjourning my union with Aude.”

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Charlemagne, who had just been having high words with the queen, was not favourably disposed to marriages. He replied, in an ill humour—? “Do you want to drive me crazy, my fine nephew? Marriage is a folly, take my word for it. Resides, I have a fancy to ravage the land of Saxony. I hear that in a town they call Eresburg—I don’t know why—they worship an idol named Irminsul, and I have set myself the task of burning this impudent divinity. I count on your assistance. On my return we will talk about your marriage.”

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Roland went away sadly to find his Aude.

In the year 771, the Emperor spent Easter at Herstall, and Christmas at Attigny. About the beginning of the year 772 he convened his nobles at Worms, placed himself at their head, and invaded Saxony. This land, subdivided into numerous petty states, was inhabited by Westphalians, Osterlindsi, Sclaves, Hungarians. All these tribes were driven back to the Baltic, their idols were destroyed, and their lands devastated. Compelled to sue for peace, they came in and did homage 011 the banks of the Weser.

Charlemagne, who was no less terrible to his wives than to his enemies, got rid of Desiderade, his second queen, and determined to marry a third. He was of this mind when Roland once more sought him.

“Sire, since you have given me encouragement to hope, I come to remind you that I love Aude, the niece of Gerard of Vienna, your friend, and that you have promised her to me in marriage as a reward for conquering Angoulaffre. You desired me to follow you to Saxony, and I did so; no one can say, surely, that I was sparing of my person in the campaign. You have often spoken severely against marriage, but I understand you have changed your views, since you are, for a third time, going to do yourself what you used to say was bad for others. I am your sister’s son. I have served you to the best of my ability, and every one agrees that the ability of Roland is no trifle. Will you not please to fix a day for my nuptials?”

Charlemagne was in a particularly good humour that day. He burst out laughing at his nephew, and said—

“By my beard? and sceptre, I believe this youngster is going to set me to school. My friend Ganelon was right when he had me beware lest this rogue should lead me by the nose. So-ho! my warrior, have I not made you Count of Mans and peer of the realm? Have not I granted you the Marches of Brittany? And must I now reward you for the blows you have struck in defence of your own precious hide? No, my fine nephew; I don’t approve of people who try to force my game. Besides, I have a notion, after my marriage, of making an excursion in the direction of Lombardy. You will accompany me. When we come back we will see what is to be done.”

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This year (772) Charles kept the festivals of Easter and Christmas at Herstall, on the Meuse. About this period Didier, King of Lombardy, invaded the states of St. Peter. Coming at the head of ten thousand stout lances, he laid siege to Rome. Pope Adrian did not lose heart for a trifle like that. He closed the gates of the Eternal City, carefully inspected the walls, and manned them with troops, determined to perish amid the ruins of his capital rather than surrender.

Then he sent a deputation of bishops and men of distinction to Charlemagne, to remind the son of King Pepin that he was a Roman noble, and that it was his duty to defend the Church in the person of its supreme head. The Emperor was not desperately fond of his ex-father-in-law, at whose court all his enemies found refuse. He had lone meditated an expedition in his direction, and so, accepting with joy this providential chance, he convened a full court at Paderborn. The expedition was resolved on enthusiastically, and Geneva was chosen as the rendezvous of the forces. The army was divided into two sections. Bernard, Charlemagne’s uncle, had command of one column, with orders to cross Mount Joux (St. Bernard), and open a campaign in the plains of Milan, while the Emperor led his half of the army over Mount Cenis.

In vain did Adalgisus, son of Didier, attempt to defend the passes of the Alps. He was everywhere repulsed, and was hemmed in at Pavia, where his father joined him (October, 773). Pavia was then a castle, which would well have deserved the reputation of being impregnable if it had not (as is the case with all impregnable places) been taken several times. Nevertheless, it displayed some coquettishness in the matter, never permitting itself to be captured till after a wearisome war; for it required no less than a whole winter to scale its walls, which were seventy feet high, to carry its seventeen gates, and make oneself master of its sixty-two towers.

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Charlemagne went to Rome to spend the Holy Week. He entered it in triumph on the 2nd of April, 774. A grand procession of bishops and nobles went out to meet him at Novi, and accompanied him to St. John at the Lateran, where Adrian waited to receive him. The crowd hailed him as a preserver. He was surrounded by banners and crosses; people of distinction vied for the honour of carrying his victorious arms; and little children, dressed in ancient costume, strewed flowers in his horse’s path. The Pope and the Emperor embraced, and the latter, after having taken the sacrament, visited, attended by his suite, all the sacred spots in the great capital of the Christian world.

A council was called, at which one hundred and fifty-three bishops and priests assembled to assist the Pope in conferring on Charlemagne the most extensive powers and privileges.

During this time famine was making fearful havoc in Pavia. Every day people died of starvation in hundreds, but the town did not surrender. Charlemagne was not one who liked to see work long about. He quitted Rome and assumed the command of the army, and a few days after Didier was forced to surrender. Neither his courage nor his submission could appease the Emperor, and the conquered prince, his head sprinkled with ashes, had to kneel to his new lord. The last of the Lombard kings became a monk, and finished his days, under the name of Brother Desiderat, in the monastery of Corbie. Ansa, his wife, the two sons of Carloman, and Gerberge their mother, with Desiderade, the divorced wife of the King of the Franks, all fell into Charles’s hands, and he condemned them to the cloister. Lombardy was thus made the property of the crown of France.

Aude and Mita had retired to Paris, where they awaited mournfully the return of Roland and Miton. Here the Countess of Rennes gave birth to a marvellously beautiful boy, who was christened Mitis. Never was a baby made so much of. Nothing was good enough for him. The two women, left to themselves, formed endless projects, and counted with impatience the hours which seemed to pass so slowly. But one day the weeping attendants made their appearance, bearing the dead body of the little cherub. They related that a knight, with his visor closed, had attacked them and snatched the child from his nurse; that, without regarding their cries or supplications, he had made his way at full galop to a neighboring stream, where he had dismounted, and, thrusting the child into the water, had held it down with his foot for some minutes. Despite the threats he uttered they came up with him, but too late. The monster, having lifted the corpse ashore with his foot, remounted his horse and fled.

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The two sisters were for a long time like a couple of mad women. So excessive was the grief of each that one might fairly have asked which was the mother of the murdered babe.

Now it happened that on the day of the murder Ganelon had passed through Paris on his way to Brittany.

The Saxons, taking advantage of Charlemagne’s absence, had invaded the territory lying between the Rhine and the Weser. The Emperor, but just returned from Lombardy, sent against them four formidable armies; then, having held an assembly at Duren, he placed himself at the head of a fifth column and crossed the Rhine (775). He made himself master of Eresburg, and left a garrison there to hold it, and next defeated at Brunsberg the masses of Saxons that endeavoured to stop his passage of the Weser. He advanced as far as the Oder, cutting the Westphalian forces into pieces on his route, and then marched back after having reinforced the garrison of Eresburg, which was to serve as a prison for his Saxon captives.

This year Hildegarde presented Charlemagne with a daughter, who was christened Rotrude. The Emperor was so delighted with her that Roland ventured to renew his request.

“Sire, you bade me share the campaigns in Saxony and Lombardy, and I did my duty to the best of my power. Is it not time——”

“My dear nephew, spare your eloquence. I see you coming, and begin to know your petition by heart. Well, by St. Nazaire! I will grant you the request you press so warmly. In one month you shall be wed.”

Five days after they had to mount, and march for Italy again. Rotgause, Duke of Friuli, and Adalgisus, son of Didier, had resolved to attack Rome and Italy by sea and land (776).

Charles once more crossed the Alps, took Rotgause a prisoner, and, having cut his head off, handed over the government of Friuli to one of his French nobles, the Count Markaire. Then he set out for Worms.

One day the Emperor was riding at the head of his army, with Roland beside him. They were marching alongside of a splendid corn land. The reapers, terrified at the sight of the soldiers, had flung down their sickles, and fled; but, their curiosity restoring them their courage to some o o degree, they ventured to watch the column from a safe distance.

“Have you never, sire, envied the lot of these peasants?” asked the Count of Mans.

Charles looked at his nephew in wonderment, thinking he was gone mad.

“When once their work is over,” continued Roland, “they return to their homes to find a wife waiting on the threshold to embrace them, and a bevy of children who storm them for kisses; while we——”

“I understand you, nephew mine. This is a new way of putting it that you are trying, and if I let you have your talk out, it would infallibly end in the old question, ‘When is the marriage to be?’ I am not more hard-hearted than most people; and, by the mass! on my return—-”

The Emperor paused. He had just caught sight of a whirlwind of dust a long way off. By degrees the whirlwind lessened to a cloud—the cloud turned into a horseman—the horseman proved to be Hugo of Cotentin.

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The Count Palatine had spurred fast to tell Charles that the Saxons were again in revolt, and were ravaging the banks of the Rhine.

Roland sighed. “Aude—dearest Aude!” said he, “shall we never be united except in Paradise? If I thought so, I would hasten the period, and get myself killed in the very next fight.”

But I should never finish my story if I were to relate to you all the expeditions of Charlemagne against the Saxons. He was always crossing the Rhine, sweeping away whole nations, receiving their submission, and taking hostages; but scarcely had he turned his back before he heard the growlings of a fresh eruption. You will learn all this from pages more serious than mine. I will only add, that in 777 Charlemagne assembled the Saxons and their rulers at Paderborn, and that a great many came, and were baptised.

I must now resume my story.

Charlemagne is at Paderborn, surrounded by his Court. Hildegarde had borne him a son, who received the name of Carloman. Aude was more lovely than ever. Miton was now thirty-two, Mita twenty-seven, and Mitaine eight. Oghris was growing old now. His coat was turning silvery. He now required a long ten minutes to quarter an ox, but his claws were still good. He had taken a mighty fancy to Mitaine; and often, when they had tried to separate them, the lion had grown so thin, and the child so melancholy, that they were compelled to abandon the idea.

The god-child of Charlemagne had often been made the aim of assassins, and, without doubt, the same fate was intended for her that had befallen her brother. But Oghris was always at hand, and the murderers had to take to flight. On one occasion, however, one of them had not got off quickly enough, and so paid the penalty for the others.

“Now, at last,” said Miton, “I shall understand the meaning of all this!”

Unfortunately, the lion had not thought of this, and his victim was reduced to such small fragments that nothing could be discovered from them.

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Charles flew into a great rage on hearing of the attempts to which his god-child had, more than once, nearly fallen a victim.

“By Joyeuse! he who touches my god-child is a bold man. Tell me, Mitaine, have you no indication to give me which might put us on the track of this devourer of babes?”

“None, my lord; the monster appears and disappears as if by magic.”

“Well, be he fay, ogre, or vampire, I swear to Heaven I will deliver him into your hands. But until it is in our power to hang, draw, and quarter him, how shall we distinguish this monster, who wishes to devour you, by name?”

“Let us call him Croquemitaine!”

“So be it. Well, then, Croquemitaine shall be hanged: take my word for it.”

In the year 777 Charlemagne celebrated Easter at NimÈgue.

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