CLOVIS, THE FIRST KING OF FRANCE

While there was danger from the Huns, the different tribes stood together, but when that danger was past, each people began to consider how they could make themselves more powerful than the others.

Of all the Franks that had come into Gaul, the Salii, or Salian Franks, were the strongest, although as yet they held only a little land on the left bank of the Rhine. Their chief, Meroveus, had fought at Châlons. In 481, thirty years after this battle, Meroveus and his son were both dead, and the only one left to represent his family was a boy of fifteen named Clovis. He was a strong, energetic boy, and young as he was, he had already shown on the battle-field that he could strike a hard blow and a skillful one. The Frankish warriors voted that he should be their chief. “Clovis! Clovis!” they shouted, and they carried him through their villages raised high up on their shields, so that every one might know whom they had chosen.

Clovis was an ambitious young man, and he promptly set about increasing his territory. When he was only twenty, he defeated the Romans at Soissons, about sixty miles from Paris. Other towns soon fell into his hands, and so he became master of a wide area in what is now northern France.

There were always many treasures in the churches, and among those taken from the church in Rheims there was an especially beautiful golden vase. Now the young chief had taken a liking to the Bishop of Rheims, and the bishop was very willing to have the good-will of the valiant young heathen. He would have it in his power to show many a favor to the Church, and some day he might even become a Christian.

So it was that, when Clovis and his followers were about to divide the booty, a messenger from the bishop appeared. He earnestly besought Clovis to return what had been taken from the church at Rheims, “or, if that is impossible,” said the messenger, “to return at least the golden vase.” Now, among the Franks, all booty was divided by lot, and the chief received no more than any one of his followers. Clovis spoke to his men. “Will you grant me the favor,” said he, “of giving me the vase of Soissons besides what comes to me by lot?” Either the followers of Clovis were willing to please their leader or else they did not care to offend so powerful a man, for all but one agreed. That one, a surly fellow, growled out, “You will have what the lot gives you and nothing more.” He raised his battle-axe and struck the vase a heavy blow. Clovis gave the man one look, then, without a word, he picked up the broken vase and handed it to the messenger.

Before long, the time came for his revenge. He was inspecting the arms and armor of his men, and when he came to the one who had broken the vase, he said, “There is no other man who has brought to me arms so poorly cared for as yours. You are not fit to be among my followers.” He snatched the battle-axe from the man’s hand and flung it down upon the ground. The warrior stooped to pick it up--perhaps that he might strike the first blow--but, however that may be, Clovis was before him. He gave his own axe a mighty swing and brought it down with deadly force upon the man’s skull, crying, “This is what you did to the vase at Soissons.”

Clovis had no wife, but he had heard stories which interested him in a young princess, Clotilde, niece of the King of Burgundy. It was said that this king had slain the rest of her family save one sister, who had entered a convent. Clotilde was living quietly at Geneva, giving all her time to deeds of charity. Of course Clovis knew that her uncle would not allow any suitor to have a glimpse of her, lest she should marry and thus gain power to avenge her family; so he gave his ring to a man whom he could trust and said: “Do you dress yourself in rags like a beggar and put a beggar’s wallet upon your back. Go to Clotilde and say that you are on a pilgrimage and ask for her charity. If the stories told of her are true, she will not refuse to see a pilgrim, and you can give her my message and the ring.”

The pretended beggar went to Geneva, and the gentle princess gave him food and washed his feet with her own royal hands. As she was bending over him, he leaned toward her and whispered, “Lady, Clovis, King of the Franks, would gladly offer you marriage. In proof of my words he sends you his ring.”

Clotilde was glad. She rewarded the beggar and gave him a ring of her own to carry to the king. “If Clovis would wed me,” she said, “let him send messengers without an instant’s delay to demand me of my uncle and take me away with them. My uncle’s chief counselor is now in Constantinople, and if he should return, he would advise against my marriage, especially with so powerful a man as the King of the Franks, lest I avenge the death of my family.”

The moment that Clovis heard this, he sent an embassy to ask for Clotilde. The wicked uncle did not dare to refuse, so the ceremonies of espousal were gone through with, and the princess was put into a covered chariot drawn by four white oxen, and they set out with much dignity and splendor for the home of Clovis.

They had gone only a little way before a good friend of Clotilde’s sent her a message. She called her escort together and said: “I have certain knowledge that the chief counselor has returned, and that my uncle has already sent out a troop of warriors in pursuit of me. If you would obey your king’s command and carry me safely to him, do you get me as fast a horse as can be found.” So it was that the bride of King Clovis entered Soissons, not in the glory of a chariot drawn by four white oxen, but on the back of a horse galloping at full speed.

This is the story that has come down to us of the marriage of Clovis and Clotilde. Very likely some of the praises of the princess that first interested Clovis in her came from the wise Bishop of Rheims, who would of course be delighted to have the powerful King of the Franks become the husband of a Christian maiden.

Clotilde did her best to persuade Clovis to become a Christian. “You worship gods of wood or stone or metal,” she said. “They are nothing, and they can do nothing for you.” “They made all things in the world,” insisted Clovis sturdily. By and by a little son was born to them, and now Clotilde pleaded again with her husband. He did not yield, but he did promise that the little prince might be baptized. This was done, and Clotilde was happy. But in a few days the baby died. “That is what this baptizing has brought about,” said Clovis. “If he had been dedicated to my gods, he would be alive. The gods are angry with me, and they have taken my child.”

Clotilde was broken-hearted, but she would not give up her God, and when a second little son was born, she insisted that he, too, should be baptized. In a few days this child also fell sick. “His brother was baptized in the name of this Christ of yours,” declared the king bitterly, “and he died. This child has been baptized, and he, too, will die.” The child did not die, however, but grew well and strong, and Clovis began to think that after all it might be that baptism did not harm him.

A little while after this, Clovis was setting out for what he knew would be a terrible battle. He hoped for the help of his gods, but he was beginning to question a little whether they were really as powerful as he had supposed. As he was starting, Clotilde put her arms around his neck and said: “Your gods cannot help you to win this battle, but my God can. Will you promise me that if you are successful, you will thank my God and become a Christian?”

Clovis promised and said farewell. The battle was going against him, and even his most trusted fighters lost heart. The king remembered his promise and he cried out: “Jesus Christ, whom my queen Clotilde calls the Son of God, my old gods have failed me, and I come to Thee. Only give me victory over these enemies of mine, and I will believe in Thee and be baptized in Thy name.”

The victory was won. Clovis kept his word, and when Christmas Day came, he went to Rheims to be baptized. The whole city rejoiced. All along the road leading from the palace to the cathedral, the houses were hung with tapestry and banners and draperies of brilliant colors. First in the procession came the clergy, bearing the book of the Four Gospels, the cross, and the standards, and chanting as they walked. Then came the Bishop of Rheims, leading the king by the hand. Close behind them walked the queen, and then came the long line of citizens and men at arms. When the moment for the baptism had come, a fair white dove fluttered in through the open window, hovered over the altar a moment, and then flew away. From this the legend arose that a dove had brought a vial of holy oil with which to anoint the king.

The two sisters of Clovis and three thousand of his men at arms were also baptized. He soon received from the Pope the title of “Most Christian King and Eldest Son of the Church,” and this title has been handed down to every sovereign of France.

Clovis was not exactly what would in these days be called a “Most Christian King,” for he aimed chiefly at conquering more land and murdering every one who might stand in the way of his power. The kingdom now included the greater part of Gaul. It began to be called Francia, or the country of the Franks. Its capital was Paris.

Thus it was that Clovis founded the French monarchy, and also Christian France, even though he was not the ideal Christian of to-day.