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The Wars And Military Exploits of Charlemagne (884 AD)
Literary Excerpt
By Notker The Stammerer, Monk of Saint Gall
Charles the Great, or Charlemagne, was crowned the first Holy Roman Emperor on Christmas Day in 800 AD. His title was granted by Pope Leo III in gratitude for Charlemagne’s military assistance, particularly against the ongoing territorial ambitions of the Longobards, who were Rome’s neighbors on the Italian peninsula.
Much of Charlemagne’s reign was marked by military conflict, including a particularly violent thirty-year war to subdue Saxony. Over 800 years later, Frederick the Elector of Saxony would lend support and protection to a monk named Martin Luther, whose Reformation of European Christianity would lead to the Empire’s undoing.
The conflict described below is more personal in nature. In the time-honored tradition of monarchs, and following the advice of his mother, young Charles had sought to secure his political fortunes through marriage, and so had taken for a wife the daughter of King Desiderius of the Longobards. Within a year, she was bedridden, unable to bear children, and so, our author tells us, “put on one side as if already dead.” Naturally enough, her father found this an unsatisfactory breach of agreement, and staged the uprising against which Charlemagne’s answer is described below.
This is not the most accurate history of Charlemagne’s life. It is a second hand account, written over 100 years after the events described. It is moreover addressed to Charlemagne’s great-grandson and namesake, Charles the Fat, and takes pains to celebrate the glories of his dynasty. Nevertheless, Notker’s florid prose powerfully evokes the awesome spectacle of a medieval army arrayed in full armor, approaching with hostile intent.
Now it had happened some years earlier that one of Charlemagne’s principal nobles, Otker by name, had incurred the wrath of the formidable Emperor and had therefore fled to this same Desiderius [King of the Longobards]. When they heard that the dreaded Charlemagne was coming near, these two went up into a high tower from which they could see anyone approaching from far and wide. As soon as the baggage trains came into sight, moving even more quickly than those of Darius or Julius Caesar, Desiderius said to Otker: “Is Charles in the midst of that vast array?” “Not yet, not yet,” answered Otker. When he perceived the army itself, collected together from all the nations of Charlemagne’s vast Empire, Desiderius said sharply to Otker: “Now Charles is advancing proudly in the midst of his troops.” “Not yet, not yet,” answered Otker. Desiderius then flew into a panic and said: “If even more soldiers come into battle with him, what can we possibly do?” “When he comes,” said Otker, “you will see what he is like. I don’t know what will happen to us.” As they spoke together, the sovereign’s escort appeared, tireless as ever. When he saw them Desiderius was stupefied. “This time it really is Charles,” said he. “Not yet, not yet,” said Otker once more. After this the bishops came into sight, and the abbots and the clergy of Charlemagne’s chapel, with their attendants. When he saw them Desiderius longed for death and began to hate the light of day. With a sob in his voice he stammered: “Let us go down and hide ourselves in the earth, in the face of the fury of an enemy so terrible.” Otker, too, was terrified, for in happier days he had been in close contact with the strategy and the military equipment of the peerless Charlemagne, and he knew all about them. “When you see the fields bristle as with ears of iron corn,” he said, “when you see the Po and the Ticino break over the walls of your city in great waves which gleam black with the glint of iron, then indeed you can be sure that Charlemagne is at hand.” He had not yet finished his words when from the west a mighty gale and with it the wind of the true north began to blow up like some great pall of cloud, which turned the bright daylight into frightful gloom. As the Emperor rode on and ever on, from the gleam of his weapons dawned as it were another day, more dark than any night for the beleaguered force.
Then came in sight that man of iron, Charlemagne, topped with his iron helm, his fists in iron gloves, his iron chest and his Platonic shoulders clad in an iron cuirass. An iron spear raised high against the sky he gripped in his left hand, while in his right he held his still unconquered sword. For greater ease of riding other men keep their thighs bare of armour; Charlemagne’s were bound in plates of iron. As for his greaves, like those of all his army, they, too, were made of iron. His shield was all of iron. His horse gleamed iron-coloured and its very mettle was as of iron. All those who rode before him, those who kept him company on either flank, those who followed after, wore the same armour, and their gear was as close a copy of his own as it is possible to imagine. Iron filled the fields and all the open spaces. The rays of he sun were thrown back by this battle-line of iron. This race of men harder than iron did homage to the very hardness of iron. The pallid face of the man in the condemned cell grew paler at the bright gleam of the iron. “Oh! the iron! alas for the iron!” Such was the confused clamour of the citizens of Pavia. The strong walls shook at the touch of iron. The resolution of the young grew feeble before Otker, who had forseen the truth, with one swift glance observed all this, which I, a toothless man with stammering speech, have tried to describe, not as I ought, but slowly and with labyrinthine phrase, he said to Desiderius: “That is Charlemagne, whom you have sought so long.” As he spoke he fell half conscious to the ground.
Much of Charlemagne’s reign was marked by military conflict, including a particularly violent thirty-year war to subdue Saxony. Over 800 years later, Frederick the Elector of Saxony would lend support and protection to a monk named Martin Luther, whose Reformation of European Christianity would lead to the Empire’s undoing.
The conflict described below is more personal in nature. In the time-honored tradition of monarchs, and following the advice of his mother, young Charles had sought to secure his political fortunes through marriage, and so had taken for a wife the daughter of King Desiderius of the Longobards. Within a year, she was bedridden, unable to bear children, and so, our author tells us, “put on one side as if already dead.” Naturally enough, her father found this an unsatisfactory breach of agreement, and staged the uprising against which Charlemagne’s answer is described below.
This is not the most accurate history of Charlemagne’s life. It is a second hand account, written over 100 years after the events described. It is moreover addressed to Charlemagne’s great-grandson and namesake, Charles the Fat, and takes pains to celebrate the glories of his dynasty. Nevertheless, Notker’s florid prose powerfully evokes the awesome spectacle of a medieval army arrayed in full armor, approaching with hostile intent.
Now it had happened some years earlier that one of Charlemagne’s principal nobles, Otker by name, had incurred the wrath of the formidable Emperor and had therefore fled to this same Desiderius [King of the Longobards]. When they heard that the dreaded Charlemagne was coming near, these two went up into a high tower from which they could see anyone approaching from far and wide. As soon as the baggage trains came into sight, moving even more quickly than those of Darius or Julius Caesar, Desiderius said to Otker: “Is Charles in the midst of that vast array?” “Not yet, not yet,” answered Otker. When he perceived the army itself, collected together from all the nations of Charlemagne’s vast Empire, Desiderius said sharply to Otker: “Now Charles is advancing proudly in the midst of his troops.” “Not yet, not yet,” answered Otker. Desiderius then flew into a panic and said: “If even more soldiers come into battle with him, what can we possibly do?” “When he comes,” said Otker, “you will see what he is like. I don’t know what will happen to us.” As they spoke together, the sovereign’s escort appeared, tireless as ever. When he saw them Desiderius was stupefied. “This time it really is Charles,” said he. “Not yet, not yet,” said Otker once more. After this the bishops came into sight, and the abbots and the clergy of Charlemagne’s chapel, with their attendants. When he saw them Desiderius longed for death and began to hate the light of day. With a sob in his voice he stammered: “Let us go down and hide ourselves in the earth, in the face of the fury of an enemy so terrible.” Otker, too, was terrified, for in happier days he had been in close contact with the strategy and the military equipment of the peerless Charlemagne, and he knew all about them. “When you see the fields bristle as with ears of iron corn,” he said, “when you see the Po and the Ticino break over the walls of your city in great waves which gleam black with the glint of iron, then indeed you can be sure that Charlemagne is at hand.” He had not yet finished his words when from the west a mighty gale and with it the wind of the true north began to blow up like some great pall of cloud, which turned the bright daylight into frightful gloom. As the Emperor rode on and ever on, from the gleam of his weapons dawned as it were another day, more dark than any night for the beleaguered force.
Then came in sight that man of iron, Charlemagne, topped with his iron helm, his fists in iron gloves, his iron chest and his Platonic shoulders clad in an iron cuirass. An iron spear raised high against the sky he gripped in his left hand, while in his right he held his still unconquered sword. For greater ease of riding other men keep their thighs bare of armour; Charlemagne’s were bound in plates of iron. As for his greaves, like those of all his army, they, too, were made of iron. His shield was all of iron. His horse gleamed iron-coloured and its very mettle was as of iron. All those who rode before him, those who kept him company on either flank, those who followed after, wore the same armour, and their gear was as close a copy of his own as it is possible to imagine. Iron filled the fields and all the open spaces. The rays of he sun were thrown back by this battle-line of iron. This race of men harder than iron did homage to the very hardness of iron. The pallid face of the man in the condemned cell grew paler at the bright gleam of the iron. “Oh! the iron! alas for the iron!” Such was the confused clamour of the citizens of Pavia. The strong walls shook at the touch of iron. The resolution of the young grew feeble before Otker, who had forseen the truth, with one swift glance observed all this, which I, a toothless man with stammering speech, have tried to describe, not as I ought, but slowly and with labyrinthine phrase, he said to Desiderius: “That is Charlemagne, whom you have sought so long.” As he spoke he fell half conscious to the ground.
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