CHARLES THE HAMMER

When Clovis died, his kingdom was divided among his four sons, and every one of them was as determined to gain power as his father had been. They quarreled and they fought, and before long one of them was killed in battle. His three little boys went to live with their grandmother, Clotilde, and she did her best to hold their father’s part of the kingdom for them.

The two uncles pretended to be fond of the boys and spread the report that they were going to put them upon their father’s throne. Clotilde was delighted, and when the children were sent for, she made a great feast, dressed the boys in royal robes, and sent them to their uncles. But in a little while a stern man with a hard, cruel face appeared before Clotilde. “Lady Queen,” he said, “I am sent here by your two sons. Your grandsons are in their hands, and I am to ask which of these you will choose for them.” He held up in one hand a naked sword, and in the other a pair of shears.

Clotilde knew well what this meant. The sword was a sign of death; the shears of disgrace. Meroveus, who fought at the battle of Châlons, had long yellow hair, and this had come to be looked upon as a sure mark of royalty. To cut it off was the same as saying, “This man is not worthy of the crown. He must go away and hide himself in a monastery.”

Poor Clotilde was frantic with grief. She exclaimed, “Better die than be shorn!” She could not think that her sons would be so wicked; but the messenger hurried away to them, and on the instant two of the little boys were slain. An attendant rescued the third child, and carried him away to safety in a convent. When he grew up, he became a monk of his own choice.

So the reigns of the Merovingian kings went on, marked by robbery, cruelty, and murder. The best among them was Dagobert, who came to the throne in 628. He was good-natured and really seemed to care for the love of his people; and this was something so new that his subjects called him “good King Dagobert.” He used to go about through his kingdom, stopping at the principal places, and holding a sort of court of justice. It was a rough-and-ready variety of justice, but people soon found that he meant to be as fair to a poor man as to a rich man, and this was a great surprise and delight to them.

Dagobert may not have been an especially wise man, but he was wise enough to surround himself with good counselors and to listen to their words. He was interested in beautiful things, and the doughty soldier really enjoyed the exquisite work of Eloi, his treasurer, who had been a famous goldsmith before he became a monk. He made among other things a crown and scepter and a wonderful golden chair or throne richly adorned with jewels. He also did much work for the church which Dagobert built in honor of Saint Denis. Many years earlier, as has been said before, a little church or chapel had been built over the saint’s grave; but it had become so dilapidated that one day a deer, trying to escape from the king, had no trouble in springing into the ruin. “It has gone to the good Saint Denis for refuge,” said the king, “and it shall not be harmed.” The frightened deer was allowed to go free, and in memory of this day the king built a church and abbey on the spot. Here was kept the sacred oriflamme, or “golden flame.” This was a small banner of red silk, cut into two or three points. Whenever a French king was about to set out for war, he always went first to Saint Denis for this banner, and after the abbot had blessed it and prayed that it might never see defeat, it was delivered to him. In battle it was borne before him, and when there was any lull in the warfare, it stood before his tent. King Dagobert was buried in his beautiful church, and for more than a thousand years it was used as a tomb for all French kings.

Dagobert was the last king of the line of Meroveus who was good for anything. Twelve of his race followed him, but their names are not worth remembering. They had no ambition to get more land or even to rule what they had. They were stupid and lazy and roamed about in their ox-carts from one country house to another, eating and drinking heavily. The only thing about them that was royal was their long hair, and when one long-haired king over-ate himself and died, another took his place, and nobody knew the difference. People called them the “Do-Nothing” kings, and no one has ever found a better name for them.

Useless as these kings really were, there were certain things that they had to do, or pretend to do. One of these duties was to receive ambassadors from other lands. When one came to pay his respects to the king, the Do-Nothing would sit on the throne, try his best to look wise, and then repeat whatever words he was told to say.

The one whose orders he obeyed was called the “mayor of the palace.” He was the “power behind the throne,” and had to be a keen, bright man in order to fill the place. As the kings grew weaker, this officer grew stronger; and at length he even told the king how much pocket money he might be permitted to spend. If a king seemed at all inclined to be troublesome and disobedient, the mayor saw to it that he was poisoned or assassinated, or the people would be informed that the king was tired of his many cares and had decided to become a monk.

The Frankish kingdom had become so large that it extended far beyond the Rhine and included the whole of the present France except Brittany. It was not all at peace, and when one Charles came into power as mayor of the palace, he had some disorders to quell. It was not long, however, before matters in the kingdom were in good shape, for Charles was a strong, powerful ruler.

It was fortunate for France that such a man was in control, for greater trouble was coming from the East than had ever threatened the country before, save in the days of the Huns. About two hundred years earlier, an Arabian named Mohammed had declared that God had sent him as a prophet. He produced a book called the Koran, which, he said, God had inspired him to write. At first slowly, then rapidly, his religion spread, until all Arabia had accepted it. Mohammed now declared that God had given him permission to make converts by the use of the sword. He sent missionaries to Persia, and when the people of that country would have nothing to do with him, he opened war upon them. He planned an attack upon Syria and the Roman Empire; but died before this could be undertaken.

Two hundred years after Mohammed died, his followers set out to conquer the world. It began to seem as if they would succeed; for they subdued Egypt and northern Africa, and then crossed over into Spain and Provence. Wherever they went, churches were robbed or torn down and Bibles were destroyed. They were savage fighters, and they swept all before them. Sometimes they accepted tribute, but generally they would say to their prisoners: “The choice is yours, the Koran or the sword. Believe in Mohammed or be slain.”

These were the people who were already in Spain and southern France and had made their plans to sweep through the whole of France, Germany, and Italy. They came over the Pyrenees, crossed the Garonne River, and captured Bordeaux. The Mohammedans had heard of the wealth of Bordeaux, but they found it far greater than they had supposed. Their own stories of the capture declare that even the soldiers of lowest rank had plenty of precious stones, topazes, emeralds, and others; and that the whole army was so loaded down with gold and other booty that the marching became slow and stumbling.

To the people of Aquitania, however, the march of the Mohammedans seemed far too rapid. They had already covered the country between the Garonne and the Loire and had pushed into Burgundy. “Will you help me?” said Eudes, Duke of Aquitania, to Charles. “It is for your own good as well as mine. Let but these heathen crush Aquitania, and you and your Franks will next know their fury.”

Charles was more than willing, and with his ready Franks he went at full speed to the Loire River. The city of Tours on the Loire was one of the richest in the whole land, and he was sure that the Mohammedans would try to capture it. He was right. “We will go to Tours,” said the Mohammedan leaders, “and we shall find in the abbey there such treasures as no army ever took before.”

If there had been such a thing as wireless telegraphy in those days, the Mohammedans would have known that trouble was before them; but they went on triumphantly to the very walls of Tours before they suspected that an enormous number of Franks were coming down upon them. Evidently this was no time to be dreaming about the treasures of Tours. Indeed, it would have been far better if they had tossed aside what loot they had already taken.

Probably neither side realized that this battle would decide whether Europe should be Christian or Mohammedan, but both did realize that it would be a tremendous struggle. Neither Charles nor the Mohammedan commander was eager to begin the fight. Time was not so valuable in those days, and for one whole week they waited and watched, each army in its own camp. At last, the Mohammedans made a general attack. The Franks “stood there,” says one old writer, “like solid walls or icebergs.” Another says that their hands were made of iron. They were tall and powerfully built, and their armor was stout and well made. Six days they fought in something like battle array. Then some of the Franks made a dash into the camp of the enemy. The Mohammedans rushed back from the general conflict to defend their camp. Everything became a wild turmoil, a fight between man and man; and here the height and strength of the Franks counted immensely. At night both armies always withdrew to their camps; but one morning no Mohammedans came out to renew the battle. Carefully the Franks went to reconnoiter. “It is a trick,” said some of them, “and the heathen have hidden themselves in order to dash out upon us.” But it was no trick; the Mohammedans had retreated in the night, and Europe was saved.

In this battle Charles had swung his heavy iron hammer or mace in such tremendous blows that after this he was known as Charles Martel, or “Charles the Hammer.”